The Phantom of the Opera: Christine Returns
by BrokenFirePen
Summary: Two years after the Phantom let Christine leave, Raoul died, telling her to fulfill her dreams. But her dreams are about going to the Phantom. When she does what Raoul tells her to do, what will happen? I suck at summaries but please read and review!
1. Return

**So, just in case any of you are or will be confused, I'll tell you what's happening. It's two years later and Raoul has died. Christine hasn't, obviously, and she's going to find the Phantom. So, yeah. It'll be mostly talking, but there will be some reprises of songs. You'll know which one's they are. Based off the movie with Gerard Butler and Emmy Rossum. **

**WeAreTheFuture**

Christine kept hearing Raoul's last words in her ears. _Fulfill your dreams, Little Lotte. _And, now, she would.

When the carriage came to a full stop, she thanked the driver and got out. Standing in front of the theater, she tried to hold back tears as she walked up the stairs and inside. It was dimly lit inside so she took a candle off one of the mantels and found her feet leading her to her old changing room. All of the once beautiful flowers from her first show were still in place, but they were as dead as her hopes. Among the pinks and whites of the shriveled flowers was a pure and beautiful red rose.

"He was here," she whispered to herself, picking up the rose.

She turned to her mirror, remembering the first time she saw him. Cautiously, she reached out and pulled on the edge of the glass, feeling it move. Opening the door fully, she held the rose closely to her chest and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The torches and mantels were lit as always, but she heard nothing except for the drops of water hitting the rock beneath her feet. She started to think that coming to this theater wasn't right, but when she reached the water, she heard a soft melody being played on an organ.

She stepped into the boat waiting there and took the pole in her hands, silently pushing herself across the water. Her heart started to pound and pounded even more when she saw his figure sitting at the organ, playing now a song more harsh and fierce. As she drew closer to the edge of the water, he stopped playing and wrote the notes down. When she reached the landing, she silently put the pole down. He didn't seem to notice she was there.

"_Angel of Music, guide and guardian. Grant to me your glory. Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, Strange Angel," _she sang, taking one step toward him.

He froze, not turning around. _"Say you want me with you, beside you. Anywhere you go let me go too," _he sang, turning around on the bench to the organ. "Christine?" She nodded, a single tear forming at her eye and falling down her porcelain face. _"That's all I ask of you!"_

Christine walked to the piano and placed her hand over his white mask. He closed his eyes, turning his face into the palm on her hand. Carefully, she curled her fingers over the edge of his mask and slid it off his face. Unlike he had two years ago, he didn't move. He didn't cover his face or push her away. Christine let the mask fall to the floor with a small clattering noise as it collided with the stone.

She didn't wince away form his face, like others would. She merely traced her fingers along his spoiled skin. To her, he was beautiful. "Why do you hide?" she whispered to him, making him look at her.

He opened his eyes and clasped her hands in his. "It's the monster's only way of living a normal life," he whispered back, squeezing her hands.

She kissed his cheek, more tears falling. How could he refer to himself in that way? With a small smile, she said, "I see no monster."

**So that's the first chapter. I know it's short, but they'll become longer, trust me. I hope you like it and review even if you didn't. **

**WeAreTheFuture**


	2. Remember

Christine looked at the Phantom, holding his head in her hands. "Why did you come back?" he said, almost hissing the words out.

She smiled at him, brushing his hair out of his face. "Raoul died," she said, standing up straight and picking up his white mask, holding it in her dainty hands. "A horrible accident. His carriage and another carriage hit one another; it was a stormy night." Her voice choked and she sat down, covering her face with her hands. The mask fell onto her lap. It was silent for a while, than she felt someone's arms enclose her in a warm hug and she swore she never felt that way since the night when she'd first kissed the Phantom.

Tears sprung to her eyes when he let her go and took the mask off her lap, placing it over his face once more. She reached over to him to take it off his face but he stood up, towering over her. "Christine, why have you come back?"

She looked up and him, her eyes wet with tears. "I told you, Raoul died," she cried, twisting her fingers through his.

He wrenched his hand away and turned his back to her. "So, you come calling back on me? As a last resort?" She stood up and tried to make him look at her. "I let you go two years ago and now you come back. When your lover is dead," he said, taking his coat off and placing it on the stone steps where he then sat.

Christine sat next to him, placing her left hand on the side of his face where his mask was placed and turned his head to face her. "When I left, I always felt as if there was a part of me that was missing. When ever I would think of you, the part that was missing seamed to fill in. It was only after Raoul died that I realized I missed my angel," she whispered to him, letting her fingers dance around on his mask, curling around the edge once more. The Phantom scoffed, bringing his hand over hers, taking off the mask with her. "Angel of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange angel," she said, folding the Phantom's fingers around the mask and kissing where his skin was scared.

He turned his face, moving the kiss form his cheek to his lips and he placed one hand on the side of her face, the other on the small of her back. Neither of them noticed that the mask fell from his hands and slipped silently to the bottom of the lake.

* * * *

When Christine awoke the next morning, she found herself, wrapped in the Phantom's arms. A warm red blanket was draped over them and he was silently snoring in her ear.

As carefully as she could, she pulled his arms from around her and slipped out of the bed. Next to her, a music box that had a monkey sitting stop it with cymbals in its hands played beautifully. She found the Phantom's cloak and placed it on her shoulders, walking around the lair. Behind red curtains were broken or shattered mirrors and there was one that caught her attention right when she looked at it. It was certainly a mirror but instead of stopping like the others had, it appeared to lead to a passage way.

She looked back at the Phantom's sleeping form, took a deep breath and stepped through the passage. It was dark and wet; she could hear drops of water hitting the floor as she walked through the darkness. She didn't know how long she walked for but when she emerged into the light, she could see the stage of the opera house, the old chandelier right where the Phantom had left it two years ago, crashed into the beautiful stage. A tear fell from her eye when she recalled that night and she had to sit down. She looked around her and realized that she was in box five, the box in which that Phantom insisted was always open for his viewing.

She nearly jumped a foot into the air when someone placed their hand on her shoulder. "What are you doing in here?" the Phantom hissed, one hand covering his face.

She stood up and held her hands behind her back. "I was just… looking. I found a passage through one of your mirrors and I… I'm sorry," Christine said, not able to find the right words.

She let her head fall but the Phantom cupped her chin, bringing her line of vision back to his. "You don't have to be sorry, Christine," he said, softly kissing her nose. He than weaved her arm through his and lead her out of the box, through the corridors back to her old dressing room. "Do you remember?"

She smiled, touching his face quickly with her hand. "_Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, master._"

"_Flattering Child, you shall know me. See why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror. I am there, inside!_"

The Phantom pulled her toward the mirror and kissed her. She stood up on her toes, deepening the kiss, but he just picked her up like a bride and carried her through the mirror and down the stone passage way to his boat. He climbed inside, than helped her step in and the two of them rode side by side, down the river to music's throne, the place where the Phantom wrote his music.

**Again, another short chapter, I'm sorry. But I promise that they'll get longer as the story progresses. Please read and review! **


	3. Restoring

The Phantom sat on his piano bench, his fingers spread over the black and white keys. Just as he started playing, there was a loud bang and his hands skidded on the keys, ruining his music. He shot up from his seat and ran over to where Christine was sitting in the bed, her back rim rod straight and the blackest curled in her hands. Her eyes were wide and her face scared.

There was another loud bang and Christine jumped. The Phantom spun around and looked at the gate to the entrance of the lair. It was closed. He turned back to Christine, who was climbing out of the bed and pulling a shawl around her shoulders. She slipped her feet into shoes and went over to the boat waiting in the water.

"I'll be back," she whispered to him, kissing his cheek and stepping into the boat. She pushed herself off the edge and started floating toward the gate. It opened and the looked back, seeing the Phantom standing by the lever, his hand clasped around it.

She smiled at him and went down the passageway, the sound of the water sloshing against the stone walls. When she reached the other end of the water, the Phantom's horse, Philippe, neighed and kicked up his front hooves. She reached up and grabbed the reigns in her hands, pulling him down to the ground. She clasped his nose in her hands and stroked his main. "Shh, whoa boy, whoa," she whispered, calming him down with her angel voice.

He did and snuffed, blowing air in her face. "Merci, Philippe," she said, kissing his nose and grabbing her skirts, and running up the stairs as quickly as she could. Her hair was falling in front of her face, making her loose her vision and footing. She fell, her elbow banging against a stair. It was scraped, but she kept running.

When she reached the top, she was out of breath and needed to lean against the wall. There was a bang, only it was louder form when she first heard it. She ran down the passageway, and came to a door. One she hadn't seen before. She reached her hand forward and cautiously turned the door handle. Christine pushed the door open and gasped when she saw people walking around. She took one step forward and had to grab onto a railing; she almost fell off the two plank boards going across the ceiling. After she pulled herself up, she climbed down the ladder near her.

There were people walking and dodging her so she walked to the side, hiding near the curtain. Christine looked around, trying to find a way to escape form this madness. Behind her was one of the doors that lead to the entrance back stage. She spun around and opened the door, bursting into light. There were more people scurrying around but through the crowd, she saw two men in smart looking suits standing by the doors of the opera house.

She walked over to them, holding the shawl around her shoulders tighter. "Pardon moi, messieurs," she said quietly, pushing her hair over her shoulder. They turned and looked at her expectantly. "Could I ask what's going on?"

One of the men smiled at her. "Bonjour mademoiselle, I am Monsieur LeBlanc, and this is Monsieur DeSaulniers. And you are…?"

She was silent for a minute, than spoke. "Christine Daae, but messieurs, you have not told me what is happening in my opera house," she said, feeling quite like the Phantom that day she first saw Raoul again.

The men laughed. "Oh, _your _opera house?" the man who called himself by the name of Monsieur LeBlanc managed to say through his booming laughter. "I hardly think so."

She frowned. "Yes, my opera house," she said sharply. The men stopped laughing. "What is going on here?"

Monsieur LeBlanc looked at her frankly. "We are restoring the opera house for a new opera we are planning," he said, holding his hands behind his back.

She looked back at them calmly. "What opera?" Christine asked, standing up straighter.

"Don Juan _Triumphant_," Monsieur DeSaulniers said, nodding his head once to her. "Written not to long ago by the Phantom of the Opera, who was said to live in the deep cellars of this very opera house, but people say that who ever was able to go down their was never to be seen again. Ghastly man. Killing every man that came into his sight. Did you know that, Mademoiselle Daae?"

She looked up to the ceiling in just enough time to see a black cape billow out and disappear into the shadows. "Of course I know. It's _my _opera house, is it not, messieurs?" They nodded. "And you both had better be careful about what slips out of your mouths. You never know when the Phantom of the Opera will return," she said, spinning around, letting the skirts to her dress billow out like the Phantom's cape had and she fled toward her old dressing room, hoping no one was in there.

When Christine opened the door, she sighed in relief, seeing that on one inside, than ran to her mirror and slid it open, closing it behind her and heading down toward the corridor. When she reached the stairs, the Phantom was waiting there, a black mask on his face, one exactly the same as the masks worn in Don Juan _Triumphant. _The same one that Christine had removed during his production. She looked at him sadly and touched his cheek, tears falling form her eyes.

* * *

Christine and the Phantom lay in his bed, playing with each others fingers. "Tell me a story," she whispered to him, pulling his mask off and letting her fingers dance on his spoiled skin.

He smiled. "Sing me a song."

"Tell me a secret."

He sighed, closing his eyes. His breathing slowed and he opened his eyes again. "What sort of secret, Christine?"

She thought, running her fingers through his locks. "Tell me your name," she whispered, snuggling closer to him. The Phantom looked at her, cupping her face in his hands. They were warm, they were shaking. "Is something the matter?"

He shook his head as best he could since it was leaning against pillows. "Nothing is wrong, Christine."

She looked at him expectantly. "What's your name?"

He smiled at her. "Erik," he said, pulling her close to him. He brought her face to his and kissed her delicately, holding her tightly to his body. He pulled away form her and looked directly in her eyes. "_Christine, I love you_," he sang to her, kissing her forehead before they both fell into a peaceful sleep.

**That's chapter three. Hope you like it and please review. If you can take the time to read this story, you can take the time to write a few words. So move your curser over the little button at the bottom of the screen and press down on your mouse! Thanks! **


	4. Recasting

**So, this chapter is going to go a little fast, just to warn you. Oh and I changed the names, but they sound the same. I'm not going to tell you what to though!! You have to figure that out for yourself! **

_**Three months later… **_

The Phantom sat at his piano bench once more, his hand scribbling something across the front of an ivory envelope with red lining. Behind him, Christine approached him cautiously. "Erik?" she whispered, placing one hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright? It's been quiet for quite a while now." When he didn't respond, she sat on the bench next to him, cupping one side of his face in her hand and turning it, making him look at her. "What's wrong, love?"

He looked at her and smiled deviously. "Be a dear and send this to le messieurs," he said, handing her the envelope. "It's a suggestion about what opera they should really be performing."

She took it in her hands and looked at it. The seal on the back was a skull and it made her shiver, but she stood and walked toward the only mirror that was hidden behind a red curtain. She pulled it back and stepped in through the frame. After a minute, she heard Erik call her name. Christine turned and saw him standing behind her with a lit candle in a stand. She took it from him and kissed his cheek before fleeing down the corridor and bursting into light.

She found herself in box 5 again and when she looked down upon the scene before her, tears sprung to her eyes. Christine had known that the people had started rehearsing, but this scene, this song, made her cry more than she ever had in this theater. The song _Past the Point of No Return _always made her think of the night she left her true love, her angel, behind.

She ran through a door and ran down some stairs that were backstage before putting down her candle and walking around the drawn back curtain to the middle of the stage. The looked down at the conductor and he stopped the music. The singing subsided and Christine smiled at the power she seemed to hold before turning to the cast. "Where are Messieurs LeBlanc and DeSaulniers?" she said, holding the letter tightly in her hands.

Everyone pointed to the back of the theater and she spun on her heels, turning to face them. "Ah, messieurs. I have a letter for you." The men stood up and started walking down the aisle toward her. "From the Opera Ghost."

Everyone froze. The men stopped in their tracks, looking at her, terrified. The people behind her starts whispering constantly, sounding like bugs buzzing all around. Monsieur LeBlanc looked at her. "I beg your pardon? The Opera Ghost?"

Christine nodded her head. "He feels that you're not doing well with his opera, so he is giving you one that he feels would go over more, well more smoothly." She fought back a smirk at the looks the two men were giving her as they approached her.

Monsieur DeSaulniers held out his hand to her and she gave him the letter. He ripped it open and read it aloud to the cast and Christine.

"_Dear Messieurs LeBlanc and DeSaulniers, _

_As a formal request, I give you a new opera to replace _Don Juan _Triumphant. It is a new opera that I have written, _The Phantom of The Opera." When he finished reading it, he looked up at her. "Does the Opera Ghost," he said, spitting out the last words, "honestly expect us to obey him like this? Like children, like dogs, like… like…"

"Cast members?" Christine offered, holding her hand gracefully out to all the men and women standing behind her.

Monsieur DeSaulniers nodded. "Yes, like cast members."

Monsieur LeBlanc rolled his eyes and looked at Christine. "What my colleague means is why should we obey him?" Christine raised one eyebrow it him. Monsieur LeBlanc's face fell. "How are we to know who the lead rolls are?" he said, placing his hands over his hips.

Monsieur LeBlanc looked at his colleague astounded. "Are you actually agreeing to this nonsense?"

Christine smiled. "The Opera Ghost is to give you and your cast that information tomorrow at seven o'clock sharp." She turned and walked off the stage, only to return again. "And don't be late," she said, pointing a finger at the two men. "The Opera Ghost hates to be kept waiting."

* * *

The next morning, Christine woke with a start. The Phantom was already awake and getting dressed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled his boots onto his feet. She reached forward and managed to brush his elbow with the tips of her fingers. He turned, startled, and looked at her. "I didn't mean to wake you, Christine," he said, running his fingers lightly across her cheek.

She smiled at him, feeling his beep eyes burn into hers. "You didn't," she said, sitting up and holding the sheets in front of her bare chest. He nodded once and turned away as she slipped out of bed and searched through the pile of their clothes, mixed together from the night before and pulled her dress on. "Alright, you can open your eyes," she said, running her fingers through his beautiful brown locks. She wondered how a mother could give up something this beautiful.

He looked at her, seeing the most beautiful being stand in front of him and he couldn't believe she'd come back to him. "Christine?" She looked at him expectantly, a small smile on her face. "I love you. So much."

Her smile grew bigger and she kissed him deeply, holding his face in her dainty hands, carefully wrapping her arms around his neck After a minute, she broke away. "We should hurry. It's almost seven o'clock," she said, slipping on little slippers and pulling him through the mirror, to the theater.

Messieurs LeBlanc and DeSaulniers were standing at the front of the stage while the cast waited tiredly behind them. "This is ridiculous, Donald," Monsieur DeSaulniers said, turning to his colleague. "We don't even know if he's going to be here,-"

"You trust me so poorly,"the Phantom said, his voice booming out around the theater. Christine felt shivers crawling up her back and she looked to her side. The Phantom was gone. She made her way to stand behind the curtain and she smiled at the terrified faces of the people before her on the stage.

"No, Monsieur," Monsieur LeBlanc said, looking around at the ceiling, searching for the voice. "It's only that-"

"It has taken me quite a long time to decide who is to be whom, and Miss Daae did not make it easy for me, only giving me less than a full day to prepare, but I have made my decisions. Miss Daae has the list." Christine froze, confused. She looked down at her feet and it was true, an envelope was laid in front of her. "Miss Daae, if you would be so kind?"

She bent down and picked up the stiff paper, walking across the stage and handing it to the messieurs. They ripped it open and looked at the paper. "The role of the fearsome Opera Ghost is to be the bold Henri Campbell. Roux is to be the serene Matthew Belliveux, and the stunning Jacqueline Monet is to be played by…" Monsieur DeSaulniers looked closely at the paper. "By Isabelle Poirier." He made a confused face. "Who… Who on Earth is Isabelle Poirier? Isabelle Poirier, are you present?"

At that moment, a flawless looking young woman with straight chocolate brown hair, much like Christine's, and big blue eyes stepped through the crowd of people. She was wearing a dress with a black top and a gold skirt, much like the ones the chorus girls had to wear during the very production of Don Juan _Triumphant_. "I am, monsieur," she said, her voice marinated in a thick French accent.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, congratulations, you are to be Jacqueline Monet."

She smiled and nodded once, glancing to Christine, who gave her a small smile. "And other parts are to be cast later," Monsieur LeBlanc said, reading aloud from the paper.

"Are you all pleased with my choices?" the Phantom's voice said, booming down on them. Some women covered their ears.

There was silence before a sickly skinny looking woman stepped forward. It was the woman who had been playing the lead in Don Juan _Triumphant. _"Excuse moi, but who am I to be playing?" She reminded Christine very much of Carlotta. "I did not hear my name called."

The Phantom's laugh rang through the theater and made the woman take on step back. "That is because you have not been cast a part yet, Mademoiselle Sandrine," the Phantom said. Christine looked up and could see him hiding in the shadows, near the curtain master's position.

The woman pouted, putting her hands on her hips. "But, I am the lead soprano, I should be a lead part," she whined.

"Wrong, Madame," the Phantom snapped, making her squeal and hide back in the crowd. "Tomorrow, there will be a list tomorrow."

Than his voice faded away and everyone stood there, shocked and frightened. The Messieurs looked at Christine, but she looked back at them the same way they were looking at her, confused. Then, in the blink of an eye, Christine was gone too. She found herself falling, but it wasn't a terrifying fall, but more of a fall of feeling weightless. After a few seconds, she hit something and fell to the ground. Christine opened her eyes and found herself flying on top of the Phantom, who was laughing quietly.

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry," Christine said, standing up and brushing dust off of her white dress.

The Phantom stood and did the same. "It's alright, Christine," he said, gathering her in his arms and burying her in a deep, passionate kiss.

"I love you, Erik," she whispered, holding him as tightly as she could, something she wanted to do forever.

**Okay, so, just to be clear, the person I pictured as Henri Campbell is Justin Hartley, the person I pictured as Matthew Belliveux is Chase Crawford, the person I pictures as Sandrine is Scarlett Johansson with blonde hair, and the person I pictured for Isabelle is Nikki Reed, so yeah. Just thought I'd tell you! **

**Love, **

**Renee!!! **


	5. Recapturing

**Hey, oh, my God, guys, ladies… readers. I am so sorry it took so long. I know some of you were excited when I put up the author's note about my website blog thiny majig. Anyway, Lila Caffee, you can stop being mad at me because here, my lovlies, is chapter five. The real one. (:**

**P.S. by the way, I have bits where they speak French, so don't be confused. It's supposed to be there. **

**P.P.S. For those of you who love POTO as I do, you will be psyched to know that my piano teacher is awesome and is teaching me the Overture. It's so cool. I was literally shaking when he set the sheet music in front of me that's how excited I was. Anyway, enjoy the chapter! Love you guys! **

**P.P.P.S. Sorry I changed the chapter so many times, if you were getting alerts. I was just reading it through after I put it up and there were things I left out. Terribly sorry. **

**P.P.P.P.S That was the last one I swear. I had to add something at the end. **

The tow actors stood on stage, the girl, Isabelle Poirier standing by stage right, near the bright red curtain, and Henri Campbell standing behind glass which was supposed to act like as a mirror.

The music struck and he started to sing. _"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory. Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph." _

Isabelle turned to face the audience that wasn't there and began singing as well. Her voice was as flawless as her face, very high pitched and silk like, just as Christine's was. _"Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen. Stay by my side guide me. Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, master." _

Christine was sitting in one of the velvet red seats, looking at the play before her, recreating that horrific memory that happened two years ago. She had her hands folded neatly in her lap and her ankles were crossed. She felt something pulling at the hem of her dress, but swatted it away with her foot. Every so often, she would feel the tug again, but when ever she would look down, there was nothing there, so she kept her eyes on the scene before her.

When the song ended and the two young actors looked to _her _for approval, instead of the so called managers, she stood and walked to the stairs at the corner of the stage. She climbed them, a man whom she did not know helping her up graciously, and made her way to the young man behind the 'mirror.' "Henri?"

He stepped out from behind the glass and bowed quickly to her. "Oui?"

She smiled once. "Your singing is powerful. I can truly feel the emotion behind your voice, your verses." Christine looked to the floor as she felt a small tugging on her dress. She looked down and saw nothing, so she quickly moved on.

He smiled and kissed the back of her hand. "Merci, Mademoiselle Christine."

"But…" The man let his head hang quickly, disappointed, but lifted it back to listen to the words the stunning woman before him had to say. "You are rushing monsieur. If you take the time to hold out the notes, your singing will be more powerful. Much louder as well."

He nodded to her and bowed again. "Thank you, for your advice. I will follow it faithfully."

Christine nodded and walked daintily over to the young girl at the other end of the stage. "Isabelle, your singing is fantastic. I love your power, just as I said to Monsieur Henri Campbell." She loved how she was pretending she knew about music as the Phantom did, for she was standing in for him since he could not present himself at this time. "But I do have one small request."

Isabelle nodded her head once, listening. "If, when you're singing the second verse about your angel, when you move the notes higher, squeeze the muscles right here in your stomach." Christine pointed to her own stomach, showing Isabelle where the muscles where. "It will help you sing the pitches much stronger. And surer."

Isabelle nodded. "Could you, perhaps, show me, mademoiselle?" she said hopefully, happiness and opportunity shinning in her chocolaty brown eyes.

Christine nodded. "Of course I could." She looked to the orchestra. "Maestro, from the beginning of the piece, if you would be so kind."

The man smiled to her and lifted his conducting baton. There was the bang of music, but instead of Henri singing, the Phantom's voice boomed through the theater. _"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory. Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph." _

Christine smiled quickly and looked to Isabelle. _"Angel, I hear you. Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, master." _

_"Flattering child you shall know me. See why in shadow I hide. Look at you face in the mirror. I am there, inside!" _

Christine pressed her hands to her stomach, where her muscles where and showed Isabelle how to hit the high notes. _"Angel of music, guide and guardian. Grant to me you glory. Angel of music, hide no longer. Come to me strange angel." _

The music stopped and Christine looked to the girl who was standing next to her in awe. "That was beautiful, mademoiselle."

Christine smiled to her, pulling away from yet another tug on her dress. "Please, call me Christine. Please, every one here," she said, her voice rising over the chatter of people who were off stage. "Please call me Christine."

The cast members nodded then a sickly skinny figure came pushing through the crowd, holding a piece of paper in her hands. "What is this nascence!?" she half shouted, half screeched as she made her way over to Christine. "You are casting me as the little girl, Marguerite? The role who has hardly a part!?"

Christine took the paper from the outraged woman's hand and looked at it. "Mademoiselle Sandrine, you are mistaken. I have not cast you, the Opera Ghost has."

Sandrine threw her hands up in the air. "Oui, oui, and I am the most horrible singer there could be!" she said, a tone of anger and sarcasm flowing out of her mouth like water from a river. "You are a disgrace! If you do not put me as the lead role of Jacqueline Monet, I am leaving!"

She was hovering over Christine, as if it was all her fault for casting her as a small part, but Christine firmly held her ground. "Madam! I did not cast you for this part!" she snapped at the shaken woman. "If you have an issue with the part he has given you, you may talk to the Opera Ghost but I do not believe he will want to have an audience with you." Christine felt a tug at the hem of her dress. She pulled away.

Just then, the Phantom's voice oozed through the theater. "Mademoiselle Christine. Is there a problem?" he said, his velvet voice washing over Christine and the women there.

Sandrine looked to the ceiling. "Oui, monsieur. I should be a lead part. This little pipsqueak cannot play the challenging role of Jacqueline Monet. It is far out of her experience."

The Phantom's hearty laugh rang through Christine's ears. "Ah, mademoiselle. I have not chosen Isabelle to hurt you, all though it seems you are, but I have chosen her because, she has real talent and she will never be able to express it. Her chance. You, Sandrine, have had many chances to show the beautiful voice you have, yet Isabelle has not."

Sandrine made an angry face and fled to the back of the theater, her face streaming with tears. She fell into a very tall looking man, whom she called Etienne. Her sobs could be heard through the whole opera house, from Christine's dressing room, which was where she was fleeing to. When she reached the room, it was restored to the way it had been two years ago during her first performance. The pink flowered wall paper was back and the hard wood floors were polished to a high mirror shine.

She sighed and reached out toward the mirror. She slid it open and nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the Phantom standing there. "Oh, my goodness. Erik, you scared me half to death," she said, reaching her arms up around his neck and kissing him deeply.

* * *

The Phantom looked at Christine's still body, running his fingers lightly up and down her soft skin. He admired her beauty and deeply longed to have a beautiful face, not one that was twisted and scorn so badly that the people who are considered normal run in fear.

It was almost as if he couldn't help it and small hot tears began to roll down his cheeks and land on her exposed skin. She woke and sat up, cupping her lover's face in her hands. "What ever is the matter, my angel of music?" she sad, kissing his tears away, feeling the salty taste linger on her lips.

He shook his hand and kissed her, running his fingers through her think curly hair. It was silent in the lair except for their soft breathing until suddenly, there was the sound of someone slipping on rocks and falling to the floor. Crying followed shortly after. It was high pitched and childish, almost not human. The Phantom shot from the bed and grabbed a rope that was lying on the floor by a mirror. Christine cried out in horror and yanked it away from him.

"What on earth are you thinking?" she said, pulling her dress over her body and pulling at the strings in the back, tightening it. She handed the Phantom his clothes. "Quickly, love, put these on."

The crying continued as Christine rounded the corner of the lair. She saw a small child sitting on the steps near the water, her face red and covered in scraps. The little girl's dress was stained with blood and through the rip in the skirt her knee was badly and deeply cut. Tears were running down her face like rain on a window. Christine gasped and rushed over to her, carefully inspecting her wounds.

She looked at the little girl. Her blonde hair dances around her shoulders and her face, though covered with cuts and tears, was angelic and sweet. "Are you alright, little one?" Christine said, brushing the girl's hair out of her face. The little girl looked at Christine sadly. Christine understood then. "Erik, my love, she doesn't understand English. Would please help me?"

The Phantom went over to the two girls and sat down next to the wounded one. "What would you like me to say, Christine?"

"Ask her if she is alright?"

Erik nodded. "Sont vous d'accord, peu un?" he said, looking at the little girl in a kind way.

The little girl shook her head. "Non." Her voice was shaky and unsteady. "Il se sent comme si mon genou est dans les flammes et je ne peux pas sentir mon visage où il y a des blessures," she said, more tears falling.

"She says 'No, it feels as though my knee is in flames and I cannot feel my face where there are wounds.'"

Christine clicked her tongue once. "Would you ask her how old she is?"

"Quel est votre âge?"

The little girl sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her cut hand. "J'ai quatre ans."

"She is four years old."

"Oh, poor dear," she said, stroking the girl's cheek, careful to stay away from cuts. "Her name. What is her name? Who are her parents?"

"Qu'est-ce qui est vous le nom? Qui sont vos parents?"

The girl laughed at the questions she was getting. "Mon nom est Elisamarie. Ma mère... Je ne sais pas. Mon père... Henri Campbell."

Christine's eyes widened. "Henri Campbell?"

"Her father. She does not know her mother. Her name is Elisamarie."

"Mais vous pouvez m'appeler Elmae."

The Phantom laughed and smiled at the little girl. Christine did too. It was the first time she saw him enjoying himself without her as the center. "She says we can call her Elmae." Christine nodded once. "Bien, Elmae, je suis Erik et c'est Christine."

Christine smiled at the warmness Erik seemed to have toward this little girl, who claimed her name was Elisamarie, but was called Elmae. She knew he was not usually this kind to someone, except for her of course. The girl seemed to bring something out in him, the real man that was there and only showed himself when he found his match, or, in this case, matches. This girl seemed to re-capturing his heart, the way Christine had two years ago.

"How did she get down here, Erik?" Christine asked, helping the little girl up and carrying her over to a big wooden chair.

"Dites-nous comment vous êtes venus pour être ici, Elmae," Erik said, grabbing two of his white shirts from a pile, ripping one up to use as bandages and handing the other to Christine. She looked at him questioningly, and he smile. "It is for her to wear while we fix up her dress."

Christine smiled and Erik and gave him a small kiss on the cheek before turning back to Elmae, who began to explain how it was she came to be down in the lair. J'ai suivi l'ange. J'ai voulu qu'elle ait chanté de nouveau pour moi, mais elle est partie. Je l'ai suivie. Quand je suis venu à cette pièce... J'ai perdu mon footing. Et est tombé." Erik carefully helped the little girl out of her dress without hurting her or touching her cuts and began to pour icy water on the cuts covering her arms, face, and legs.

Erik smiled at the girls words. Christine looked at him while she ripped the shirt and carefully tied the strip of cloth around Elmae's knee. "What did she say, Erik?"

He sighed. "She says, 'I followed the angel. I wanted her to sing again for me, but she left. When I followed her to this room… I lost my footing. And fell.'"

Christine looked at the girl in wonder. "You were the one pulling at my dress, weren't you?"

The Phantom whispered the words into Elmae's ear and the girl smiled widely, throwing her arms around Christine's neck. "Oui, Madame," she said, kissing Christine's cheek lightly.

* * *

Christine sat in the chair Elmae had been, the little girl's dress in one hand, a needle with thread in it in the other. She was sewing the her dress while she listened to the remarkable girl play the organ.

Elmae and Erik were sitting on the bench, Elmae dressed in nothing but her white stockings, which were coming half way off her feet as is she had just worn them to bed, and the Phantom's shirt, the sleeves rolled all the way up to the shoulder seams; even then, the sleeves stopped at her elbows. There was a black satin rope around her waist, making the shirt fit her more nicely. When ever she stood, the hem of the shirt reached almost to her feet; it ended in the middle of her calves.

At this moment, Erik and Elmae were beginning to sing _That's All I Ask of You _from the performance, in French. Erik just finished playing the intro as Erik started to sing the male part. _"Non plus de conversation d'obscurit. Oubliez ces peurs large-regardées. Je suis ici, rien ne peut vous faire du mal mes mots iront faire chaud et vous calmer. Permettez-moi d'être votre liberté, permettez à la lumière du jour de sécher vos déchirures. Je suis ici avec vous, à côté de vous, vous garder et vous guider..." _

Elmae looked to Christine to sing the song and when the little girl's eyes shone with pleading, Christine set aside her sewing to join them on the bench. "_Say you love me every waking moment, turn my head with talk of summertime... Say you need me with you now and always... Promise me that all you say is true, that's all I ask of you." _

Elmae didn't understand the words, but she hummed along with the notes, listening to the two voices merge and fuse together in harmony. _"Let me be your shelter  
let me be your light. You're safe, No one will find you your fears are far behind you..." _

Christine didn't sing then. She just looked at the words and tears fell from her eyes. Elmae twisted her arms around the beautiful woman next to her and hugged her. Christine hugged Elmae back and felt as though it were her child she was hugging, not Henri Campbell's. Then, the words that then came out of Elmae's mouth were astonishing, even to Erik. "Mon père dit que la tristesse vient jamais vraiment du coeur, mais du grand désir votre coeur a pour quelque chose. Ainsi ne criez pas, car votre coeur est pur et vous ne voulez pas le gâter avant que vous pouvez trouver la chose qui vous rend les plus heureux."

Christine looked to Erik for help. "What did she say?"

Erik smiled. "She said 'My father says that sadness never truly comes from the heart, but from the longing your heart has for something. So, do not cry, for your heart is pure and you do not want to spoil it before you can find the thing that makes you most happy."

Christine laughed and hugged the girl tightly. "Oh, je vous aime, vous la belle fille bête.."

* * *

Christine, Elmae and Erik sat in the lair before they all heard shouting coming from what seemed to be the theater. Christine picked up Elmae, and Elmae's dress, balancing the girl on her hip and throwing the dress over her shoulder. They all made their way through the mirror and Elmae squealed in terror from the sudden darkness of the corridor. Christine held her tightly to her side and whispered 'Quiet, amore,' into her ear. The Phantom was close behind them and he stroked the girls hair before they emerged into Box 5.

There were people scrambling around the stage and looking under the seats. Every once in a while, there was a call of 'Elmae! Elmae, où sont vous, le chéri!' coming from Henri Campbell.

Christine looked to Erik and he was standing next to her, looking at Elmae. She was looking back at him. Her face was sad. Erik laughed. "Ne vous inquiétez pas, petite Mlle Elmae. Je vous verrai de nouveau, à temps," he said before kissing her cheek and telling Christine to go give the man back his daughter. She did as she was told and marched straight up to the man who was playing the Phantom in the opera.

When he turned around he let out a sigh of relief and gathered his daughter up into his arms. "Oh, mon amour, vous m'aviez si inquiété. La bonté de remerciement vous êtes bien. Je vous aime ainsi." The girl hugged her father back and Henri looked at Christine. "What happened to her?"

Christine sighed. "She slipped on the stairs. I simply too her back to my home in the theater and fixed her up." She pulled the dress of her shoulder. "And, her dress as well."

Henri kissed his daughter's head. "Well, thank you. I am forever grateful. You have a truly big heart, mademoiselle. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

Christine shook her head. "You don't have to monsieur. It was my pleasure."

Henri nodded to Christine, then looked at his daughter, who still had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. "Allons à la maison maintenant, ma fille jolie et curieuse."

**Okay, reader's. That's chapter five. Now, I know you may think this has nothing to do with the story, but trust me. It does!!! Now, there were three, no wait, four things I didn't give translation to. For those of you who don't know French, I'll give you the meanings. The thing Christine said to Elmae was: Oh, I love you, you beautiful silly girl. The thing Erik said to Elmae was: Do not get worried, baby Miss Elmae. I shall see you once again, soon. The things Henri said to Elmae were: Oh, my love, you had me so worried. Thank goodness you are safe. I love you so. And: Let's go home now, my curious and pretty girl. So…. Yeah. Hope you liked the chapter. Again, there is a significance, even if you can't see it yet. And don't try to guess either. You'll never get it. Anyway, I love you all!!**

**P.S., by the way, Elmae, for those of you who are confused, just to let you know, the pronunciation is El May. Like the month. Just incase any of you didn't know. And picture of le petite fille (the little girl) is on my blog. Link on my profile. **

**XOXO, Renee. **


	6. Revealing

**OMG! So, I'm like, really sorry it's taken forever for me to update. Sorry guys! You know I love you!!! Enjoy! **

** Oh, P.S. by the way, there's a part where Elmae and the Phantom have a conversation, in French, so when you see italics, it's because there is no need for Erik to translate anything, so yeah. When there's italics, it's the Phantom and Elmae speaking French to one another. **

~~A dream~~

There were people all around, yelling and cheering for the man to pull off the boy's mask. "Madame et messieurs, I give you the Devil's Child!" he shouted, pulling off the bag over the boy's head.

There was laughing. There was pointing. The boy looked out at the people and saw one girl looking at him sadly. She looked back the same way, begging her to take him away with the look on his face. She just stared. Coins were tossed into his cage for the man to collect, which he did once the people started to shift away to other sites in the circus. The boy quietly untied the rope bounding him to the cage and slung it around the man's neck, choking him.

~~End of the dream~~

Erik awoke, sweat dripping from his forehead down to his temples and cheeks. He knew it was morning; he heard people running around in the opera house entrance, getting ready for their daily practice. The candles around the lair were almost gone and he cursed aloud, angry for not asking Christine to go fetch some. Then he looked to the figure next to him. She was lying on her side, her bare back facing him and he sighed, letting his fingers trail along the skin on her arm.

When she didn't stir, he let her sleep and sat up in bed, letting the red blankets fall on his chest. He wiped his forehead and rose, pulling a clean shirt over his torso and boots on his feet. He reached for his black mask and put it on just as there was a squeal and he turned, seeing Elisamarie run at him fro m the bottom of the stairs. When she reached him, he scooped her up into his arms and spun her around and around.

_"Hello, miss Elmae. What surprise have you for me today?" _

It had been two weeks since the incident on the steps of the lair and Elmae had been visiting them as soon as her father put her down on the ground. Erik had taken a liking to the little girl and she began to take him little surprises such as a warm biscuit or a small glass bird she found in a shop.

_"Today, it is alive, sir," _the little girl said, holding out a small bundle of fur.

Erik eyed it suspiciously. _"And what is it, Baby Elmae?" _

_ "Silly, man! It's my kitten, Patapouf!" _The little brown kitten uncurled itself and meowed, looking at everything around it. _"He's a small kitten. He's no bigger then my china cup! He can fit inside!" _

It was true. When Erik balanced Elmae on his hip and let the kitten crawl into his free hand, it curled up again and fit perfectly into his palm. The Phantom just stood there looking at the little animal in his hand, one eyebrow raised high in the air. Then he laughed quietly. _"Elmae, I do hope you know I cannot keep your kitten here with me like I have kept all the other things," _he said, carefully handing the kitten back to her.

The girl smiled. _"Yes, I do know. That is why I have brought you a caramel." _She placed a small square into his hand; a caramel wrapped in purple paper. She looked around at Christine. _"When does Miss Christine wake up? I want her to meet Patapouf."_

Erik looked at the small girl. _"We will wake her up later in the morning, beautiful girl. How would you like to help me write a song?" _

Elmae nodded and he carried her over to the piano bench. He put her down on it and he sat next to her, looking at the keys. He started to play softly and when he came to where he needed to go on, Elmae reached out and pressed a key with her finger. He wrote the note down on a piece of parchment. As he went on to write more of the song, he noticed Elmae staring at his face. Her eyes were partially covered from her eyebrows creasing together and her mouth was pinched in one corner, as if she was thinking.

_"What is it, Elmae?" _Erik said, stopping the song and looking at the girl.

_"Why do you where a mask? It covers your face. I can't see most of it," _she said sadly, cuddling Patapouf closely to her chest.

Erik sighed. _"It is to hide the monster behind it. I do not want people to see my hideous face." _

Elmae placed the sleeping kitten on the organ and stood on the piano bench as Erik looked back to his music. She startled Erik when she started to sing one song from the opera the people above them were rehearsing. _"I remember there was mist. Swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake." _Her voice was flawless, amazingly beautiful for someone of her age. She stunned Erik to no end of how mature she was for someone of the age of four. _"And on that lake there was a boat. And in that boat there was a man." _She hit every note and reminded Erik so much of Christine's voice._ "Who was that shape in the shadows? Who's was the face in the mask?" _

She reached up as she said this and curled her fingers around the black mask. She carefully and slowly pulled it off his face. The Phantom didn't stop her and when his face was exposed, instead of screaming or running in fright, Elmae began to cry. He stood up and faced her, his whole face directed at her. With one finger, she traced the lines and scars on his cheek and temple. Erik reached up and enclosed her tiny hand in his big one, kissing the tips of her fingers. With one shaky breath, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, holding her close to him.

_"Why are you not scared?" _Erik whispered into her ear, hugging her even tighter.

She looked at him. _"Because this," _she traced his scars again, _"is who you are, and no one should have to be scared about what someone is." _

Tears fell from both Erik's and Elmae's faces and he held her tightly, protecting her as much as he could even though there was no danger around them. Elmae jumped into his arms and wrapped her tiny little legs around him as best she could.

_"Oh, I love you, Elisamarie Campbell," _he said, rocking back and forth with the little girl in his arms.

** Haha! That is chapter six. It is very short, I realize that but I wanted people to get a sense of the relationship between Erik and Elmae, how sweet and caring he can truly be and how much the petit fille can really care about the Phantom because that comes in quite handy later on in the story my dear readers! **

**Much Love, **

**Renee**


	7. Replaced

**chapter seven. Enjoy! **

**So, this time, it's a little different. Instead of starting the story with Christine and all of them, I'm going to start with different people. Lalalalalala! **

A glare was being passed from one person to the other. A frail woman had her arms crossed over her chest and a frown was casting across the bottom part of her face.

"Mademoiselle, I deeply regret to tell you that we cannot give you that part," Monsieur LeBlanc said, trying to placing his hand on her shoulder. She pulled away.

"No! That… That girl, that baby, cannot play the responsible and difficult, may I so kindly add, roll. It's impossible for her to take on the challenge at such a young age."

Monsieur DeSaulniers looked at Isabelle. "How old are you, child?" She swallowed, hiding behind Matthew Belliveux. Her hands were placed on his shoulders and you could see the top of her head. She was shaking slightly. "Well, Isabelle? How old are you, girl!"

She stepped out from behind Matthew, trying to be brave although you could see her hands shaking as she clasped them together in front of her. "I am seventeen, Monsieur."

"Ah! You see?" Sandrine said, throwing her arms up in the air. "She is only a baby. She cannot do this!"

Isabelle's hands began to shake more, but not from fear. She began to shake from anger. Matthew wrapped his arms around her and held her hands in his, trying to calm her. As he 'shh'ed in her ear, the two managers looked at each other, a skeptical look on their faces while Sandrine looked at them, one of her eyebrows raised. "Well?"

As the men held a conference between the two of them, Isabelle's chin began to wobble and her eyes began to water. She couldn't believe they were actually considering changing her to a different part. After a few minutes, and much quiet sobbing from Isabelle, the two men turned to face them. "We have decided to change Sandrine to Jacqueline Monet and Isabelle to Marguerite."

Then they turned, leaving Sandrine smiling broadly and Isabelle shaking furiously. Sandrine went over to the crying girl, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, child. You didn't deserve this part anyway," she said, looking her truthfully in the eye.

After a second, Isabelle tore away from Matthew, lashing out at Sandrine. She hit her in the face, but that was all she could do before Henri appeared out of nowhere, gathering her up in his arms and pulling her back, away from the frail and stuck up woman. "I have her, Henri," Matthew said, holding the girl closely to his chest. "Thank you. Merci beaucoup."

Henri nodded, backing away, going behind the curtain, out of sight. "Tell that baby to keep her guard. She lashes out at me again, I will make sure that she's not in this opera at all!" she said, running backstage, calling Etienne's name.

Isabelle collapsed against Matthew's chest, sobbing into is and gripping his shirt in her hands. "Mon dieu!" she cried, hugging him tightly. He held her back, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulder blades and his cheek pressed lightly to her head.

"Shh, amore, try to be quiet," he said in her ear, stroking her hair.

"No," Isabelle said, holding his tighter. "I… This cannot be happening to me. I… The Opera Ghost must know something about this. He's always there, I…"

Her words became nonsense as she collapsed to the floor in a heap, pulling Matthew with her. He picked her up, setting her on his lap and rocked her back and forth, kissing every part of her face and hugging her tightly.

Heat rushed through an onlooker in the darkness, anger boiling up inside her as she disappeared from her spot, leaving no trace of her being there.

**Oh, my God. I'm horrible at cliffy endings. Like, legit, I know that's a horrible ending to this chapter. So sorry. But, whatever. I'll have a new, and better, one soon! **

**Lots of love! **

**Renee **

**BrokenFirePen**


	8. Retelling

**So as all of you very smart children and adults must already know, the Phantom is not too pleased about the sudden switch. Scary reaction? Hmm… Well, just read and find out. **

Sandrine Faraday stood in the middle of the stage, her hands out by her sides. She was waiting for her part of the song to start, waiting for the conductor to finish the introduction.

_"Think if me, think of me fondly when we've said good-bye. Remember me once in a while. Please promise me you'll try. When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free. When you find a moment, spare a thought for me." _

In the corner, Isabelle was gripping the skirts to her dresses, nearly ripping holes in them. She looked out at the woman who had taken her spot merely by saying she was too young. She had a better voice, a stronger voice. That's why the Opera Ghost picked her. She knew the Phantom of the Opera must know about this situation and she stood there, waiting for his thundering voice to ring through the theater and interrupt the stuck up woman's song.

But he never did. Instead, Christine was sitting in the first row of beautiful red seats, Elmae placed on her lap, playing with a china doll. "Elmae, do you see this? This sight before me, I am baffled. Appalled. What's happening?" she asked the little girl, who couldn't understand a word she was saying. She just looked up at her with her big bright blue eyes. "Oh, I really must learn French," Christine muttered to herself, picking the girl up and heading down the hall to the entrance of the opera house, and when she came to the landing of the first flight of stairs, she stopped. "Hold on tight, Little Lotte. This is the only way in that I know of."

She gripped the little girl tight in her arms, placing her hand on the back of Elmae's head and forcing her face into her shoulder, not wanting her to be frightened. "Alright, don't scream, please." She took a step forward and they both fell through the trap door. There was a scream, but Christine surprised herself when she realized the sound had come out of her own mouth.

They were standing up, but Christine feared she landed on her feet wrong, and injured her ankle.

"What is going on? Is someone hurt?" Erik came rushing into the space where they were. He looked at Christine, then Elmae, then the ceiling. "Christine, did you come from up there?" She nodded. "Why on earth would you do that?"

His words were quiet, caring. She smiled to herself, and walked with the Phantom and Elmae to the lair, carrying the little girl in the area they had for her, with toys she brought from home, and a few blankets for her to sleep on. After all, she was only four.

"Erik, I, there's something I believe you should know." He turned to face her, his black mask, clasped in his hand. "They, the messieurs. They… They've taken away Isabelle's part. It has been given to Sandrine Faraday, the woman whom you placed as Marguerite."

Erik suddenly stopped moving, the hand holding the mask poised in mid-air, over his face. "They've done… What!?" he screamed, making Christine jump and frightening Elmae. She began to cry, tears running down her face like water in a river. Christine gave Erik a look of anger and went over to Elmae, picking her up and bouncing her lightly, quietly humming and shushing her. "I'm sorry, Christine. I am."

She glared at him. "You shouldn't be apologizing to me, dear Erik. You should be apologizing to Elisamarie."

Erik nodded and took the girl away from Christine, holding her tightly. "Shh, mon petite fille." His words instantly calmed the girl down. "And voila. One quiet and happy girl." Erik placed Elmae back in her play area, turning to Christine. "Tell me again what those two fools did."

She took a slow breath. "They replaced Isabelle with that awful woman, Sandrine. I saw her standing in the stage, singing _Think of Me. _Isabelle was in the back, near the far curtain, nearly ripping her dress to shreds. She looked terribly upset." Erik began to shake. Christine placed a hand on the scared part of his face. "Do calm down," she whispered in his ear, kissing him on the lips softly, but passionately. "What are you going to go?"

Erik opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out for a while. "Nothing. I am not going to do a single thing."

Christine pulled away from him. "Erik, you are just going to let them push that poor girl out of the way, to become the second best. You cannot do that." She turned away from him, the tips of her fingers placed carefully over her lips. "I want her to have her chance. You gave me my chance three times two years ago. Give Isabelle her one chance, right now. Please Erik. Do not let this girl suffer."

"Oh, dear Christine. I am going to do something. Just not at this moment. I'm going to let Mademoiselle Sandrine have her moment of fame. But Isabelle will have hers as well." Christine looked over her shoulder to see her beloved Phantom. "But I'm not going to do anything." He walked over to her and kissed her forehead. "Just wait, Madame Phantom. Just wait."

**Eh, I promised a better chapter, I really didn't fulfill that promise. Whatever. Please, please, please review people. I get happy when I get reviews and if I'm happy, you'll get a better story. *Wink wink***** Anyway. Where was I before Erik came and interrupted? Oh, yes. That's right. I changed who Elmae was being played by. Picture and name on my blog thing. Link to the blog on my profile. READ THE DIRECTIONS IF YOU HAVEN'T GONE ON IT BEFORE!!!!! Anyway, thanks peeps! **


	9. Refusing

** Sorry it's taken a while. I've been busy with the musical at school. But here's chapter…. Nine? Yes, chapter nine. **

** A sad chapter, all about the things they want but can never happen, but then about happiness about being true to who you are. **

** And remember, italics mean it's Erik and Elmae speaking to one another!!!!!**

** And I'm am going to apologize to Telley1493 for not having the chapter up when I said I would. Sorry!! But it's here now! A week later… Anyway, hope you like it! **

Christine sat next to Elmae, watching her every move. She watched her roll over, her hair falling in front of her face, her thumb falling out of her mouth, her legs curling up, turning her into a ball. Christine smiled, pushing the silvery blonde hair out of the way of Elmae's face and looked at her angelic face, wishing deeply that she could have a child such as her, or just to have a child, but she knew that her Erik would never have children in fear of the baby coming out with a face such as his.

Suddenly, there were hands on her shoulders and she jumped up, startled. "Oh, Erik, you frightened me."

He smiled kindly. "Deepest apologies, my love," he said, daintily kissing her cheek. He looked at Elmae, sleeping in their gondola bed. "What were you thinking about, Christine?"

She looked up at her Phantom, caressing his scorn and scared cheek. "I was thinking of children, having a family with you," she said quietly, looking to the ground. He hooked his finger under her chin and made her look at him. "Since we have been looking after Elisamarie for Henri while they are rehearsing in the theatre, I've gotten feelings that I… That I want a family, Erik. A real one. I want to have a child… With you…"

Erik stood there, astonished, as his true love looked at him with pleading eyes, asking for the one thing they both wanted but could never have. "You know that we can't have children, Christine. Not when there is a deformity such as mine in question," he leered, turning away from her and searching for his white mask, which had gone missing since Christine had come back. "Where is that damned mask?" His words were hushed, caring only about not waking the small child in his bed.

Christine reached out and took his hand, lightly squeezing it once. "Erik, you know that I love you for all you are, don't you?" He turned around. "So, why would I not love my son or daughter if she grew up with a face such yours? I would only love and care for her more because she is like you, her father, so how could you be refusing something like this?"

"Because it hurts me to know that I would be bringing another person into this world who only has to hide as I do." Erik's words were getting more and more harsh as the conversation went on, his reluctance to have a child only turning into anger and irritation. "I have had to hide from this world because of this… This… Curse and for that, I have only taken on more rejections from the people around me," he snarled, gripping Christine's arms tightly, so tightly in fact that later, she would have sores on her arms the size of his fingers.

"You're… Erik, you're…" He looked at her, a questioning look smeared across his face. "You're hurting my arms, darling," she said, reaching up and prying his fingers away from her. "Now, you listen to me, Erik." Small, pebble-sized tears welled up in both being's eyes as she spoke these next words. "I have always dreamt of having a family. These dreams grow stronger the more I am with you, each day, each night, each moment."

Their discussion was cut short when there was a small yawn, a whimper and a sob. Christine turned around and saw Elmae getting to her knees, her hair all frazzled and disoriented from her sleep and she yawned once more, her eyes barely open. "Erik, je suis éveillé maintenant. Pouvons-nous jouer ?" she asked sweetly, crawling out of the bed and walking over to him, her dress wrinkled and bunched up.

"What does she want?" Christine asked, stroking the girl's messy and tangled hair.

"She would like to play," he said, picking up the girl and carrying her over to his piano. _"What song would you like me to play for you, Miss Elmae?" _

The little girl sat and thought, her eyes drifting around the room until she thought of the song she wanted. _"Could you and Christine sing Angel of Music for me? It's the song my papa sings the most at home. I really adore it. Please?" _

He started in on the beginning of the song and Christine knew what the young girl wanted. Erik began singing, his voice washing over Christine, making her eyes roll into the back of her head. _"Insolent boy, this slave of fashion, basking in your glory. Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in my triumph." _

Christine walked over to the organ, quickly forgetting about the little argument she and Erik had had. _"Angel, I hear you, speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Enter at last, master." _

_ "Flattering child you shall know me. See why in shadow I hide. Look at your face in the mirror. I am there, inside!" _

Christine began to flash back to that night two years ago when she had first seen the angel, when she had first met Erik. The night that changed her life forever. _"Angel of music, guide and guardian. Grant to me your glory. Angel of music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange angel." _

Erik and Christine soon forgot about the girl, only focusing on the words they were singing, how they had come to be here and what had happened on that first night when he finally revealed himself to her as her angel. _"I am your angel of music… Come to me angel of music… I am your angel of music… Come to me angel of music…" _

The song ended and Elmae began clapping joyfully, her china doll clinking together in her arms. "Une autre chanson. S'il vous plaît, chantez un autre," she shouted, still clapping her hands together.

As Erik was about to begin singing _Point of No Return, _there was a call from up above. "Miss Daae!"

"It's Henri. He must be looking for us, to take Elmae home for the night." Christine picked up Elmae, balancing her on her hip. Erik stayed where he was. "Would… Would you like to come, Erik?" He shook his head. "Why not?"

Christine was almost crying. "Because I don't want anybody to see me," he lashed out quietly, putting his head in his hands. "Not when I'm this… This monster."

Elmae wiggled in Christine's arms and she put her down so the little girl could go over to him. Elmae tugged at his shirt sleeve then reached her arms up, implying she wanted him to pick her up. "Qu'est-ce que c'est, Elmae ?" he said, looking at her deeply and sadly in the eyes.

She leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. "J'ai déjà dit à mon père de vous. Il sait tout. Vous n'avez pas à de derrière de lui. Il comprend que vous avez peur de comment les gens vous verront. Il ne vous voit pas chacun différent alors je fais. S'il vous plaît, Erik. Venez rencontrent mon père."

Erik looked at her, his eyes wide open. "Vraiment?" Elmae nodded. "Non," he said in disbelief.

She nodded again. "Oui, oui, monsieur. Je vous appelle mon Ange de Musique. Il demande toujours de vous avant que je vais au lit."

Erik laughed. "What? What did she say?" Christine said, placing a hand on Erik's shoulder.

"She calls me her Angel of Music," he said, his voice choking up. "Le Ange de Musique." He looked back at Elmae, smiling. "Si vous me souhaitez à, donc j'irai faire. Avancez, Elmae. Allons rencontrent le Père."

Elmae squealed with joy and hugged him before scrambling off his lap and to the boat which waited in the water. She sat there excitedly, waiting while Erik and Christine climbed into the boat. "Alright, let's go," Erik said, pushing off from the side and toward the gate.

They reached the stairs quickly and Elmae ran up them, tripping every once and a while but not caring. She was just so excited about her friend meeting her father that she ran all the way up the stairs and through the hall way. She waited at the end, the mirror directly down the corridor from her. She waited and waited until Erik and Christine appeared from around the corner before taking off to the mirror door.

"Elmae, be careful!" Christine shouted just as the little girl ran so fast she ran right into the mirror. "Oh, dear." Christine ran over to the girl and looked at her, examining her forehead. "Is she okay?"

Erik didn't even have a chance to ask Elmae before she burst into laughter, clutching the sides of her stomach and rolling around on the floor. Christine and Erik looked at Elmae like she was the strangest thing they'd ever seen before but Erik just shrugged and picked her up, waiting as Christine moved the door aside before stepping through.

"Miss Daae?" Henri called again, sounding not far away. Christine put her hand up, signaling for Erik to wait to show himself and took Elmae from him, carrying her out into the corridor. "Miss Daae?"

Christine reached her free hand out, grabbing his shoulder. "Henri, here she is." Elmae was still laughing and Henri looked at her the same way Christine and Erik had. "She ran into a door," she said, smiling at the little girl who was now hanging off her father's arm, swinging back and forth. "She was very excited."

Henri smiled down at his daughter. "Oh, what did she have to show me?" he said, reaching down and tickling her stomach.

Christine started searching in her memory for what Erik had said. "She wanted you to meet her… Ange de Muisque."

Henri snapped his head up, looking at Christine. "Her Angel of Music?"

Christine nodded and went back into her old changing room and she took Erik's hand. "Come here, Erik," she whispered, entwining her fingers through his. "You said you would meet her father."

He held back. "No, Christine. I can't," he whispered, falling back into the shadows.

Christine laughed. "Erik, love, you're afraid of exposing your face to a grown man. Do you understand how… Unusual that is? For you?"

He stepped out of the shadows. "Christine, you don't understand," he whispered, running his fingers through her hair.

She smiled. "I don't care if I don't understand," she whispered, placing her hand over the scared side of his face. "You are who you are, Erik. Don't hide in the shadows or in your underground home trying to block it out."

Erik wiped away the tears that had started to fall down her face and kissed her passionately, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling his close to her. Her eyes fluttered closed as she brought the other hand up to his face, cupping each side of jaw in her daintily small hands and as she broke away, she nodded her head to the door, smiling up at him. He smiled back and unwillingly let her pull him toward the door and with that, Erik showed himself to Henri Campbell.

** Alright, so I really don't like the way I ended that but whatever. Y'all are just going to have to wait and see what Henri says about Erik!!! Ahahahahahahahaha! I know I'm evil, but I like it that way. **

** So the first thing that Elmae said, Une autre chanson. S'il vous plait, chantez une autre, that was "Another song. Please, another song." The second thing she said, her very long speech which I don't want to re-write was "I have already told my papa about you. He knows everything. You do not have to hide from him. He understands you do not want to be seen because of how people will see you. He does not see you any different then I see you. Please, Erik. Come and meet my papa." Then Erik said, Vraiment which means 'Really?' and Non just means no. Then when he said something else, very long to and it means, If you want me to then I shall. Come on, Elmae. Let's go meet Papa. So yeah, there are your translations. **

** So I hope you liked the chapter. Please read and review! **


	10. Reaching

**Hey, I'm sorry it took soooooo long for me to update this chapter, but I was having trouble thinking of how to write this. Anyway, just wait until I have what's in store for you in this chapter!!!! Haha, I hope you guys are mad at me or anything!!! **

Christine stood in the corridor, tears streaming down her face. Henri Campbell and his daughter, Elisamarie, were standing with her, one of his arms around her waist, the other one holding one of her hands while Elmae was clinging to Christine's legs with all her might. Her face was buried in Christine's skirts and she was crying loudly, crying out words in French even her father couldn't understand, her words were running together.

Christine placed one hand on Elmae's head and the little girl looked up at her. "I'm so sorry, ma petite fille," she whispered, carefully wiping her tears away. "I'm so sorry."

Henri looked at her, nearly crying himself. "No, Mademoiselle Daae, it's my fault. I am the one who should be sorry."

Christine smiled and pulled away from the two people. "If you'll excuse me, I am going to try to find him, to get him back."

Henri nodded and caught Elmae as she started to chase after Christine when she turned and flew down the corridor, picking up her skirts and running as fast as she possibly could. Sharply turning a corner, she pushed back a red curtain and revealed a small door which she then opened and stepped through. She was amerced in complete blackness and Christine began to feel her way through the corridor, water dripping from the ceiling and making little splashing noises in the small puddles that were all around her. She was following a faint glowing at the end of the long and dark passage way and it was when she was at the end where she heard crashing, banging and the shattering of glass.

When she entered the space where the light was coming from, she began running down the stairs, her feet making a 'patter, patter, patter' repeating over and over again. Christine was beginning to be frightened when she heard broken hearted screaming. She began to run faster, tripping on the hem of her skirt continuously, falling down the stairs, but she pressed on, only stopping when she got to the bottom of the long spiral staircase. She heard an exasperated scream as there was more crashing and shattering and she stepped into the boat, pushing off from the edge. She was without the staff and was forced to use her hands, paddling her way to the lair.

The gate was open and she saw Erik strutting around, grabbing objects and throwing them at mirrors, walls and other solid places. Christine quickly made her way over to the edge and stepped onto solid rock, jumping up the few steps and running over to Erik, who hadn't heard her before. As he was about to throw the small glass bird Elmae had brought to them, she reached up, tearing it out of his hand before he managed to throw it. Christine cradled it close to her chest with one hand while the other reached up and cupped the side of his face.

"What had gotten into you, _mon amore?_" she asked, stroking his cheek and looking at him sadly. "You have never acted like this before. Was it because of what he said, of what Henri said?"

Erik nodded, collapsing into her and crying. "Christine," he whispered, hugging her tightly and stroking her hair. "You believe me when I say I love Elmae, don't you?"

"Of course. I see how you are with her, darling. I couldn't be fooled for one minute."

He stood straight, looking her straight in the eye. "When he does something such as what he had done…"

Christine, put a finger on his lips, quieting him. "I know, Erik. I know."

~*~

_There was silence in the hallway as Erik stood still, the only light coming from behind, illuminating his silhouette. Henri, Elmae and Christine were standing in the hall, waiting for him to emerge. Once and a while, Christine, would beacon him out with her hand, a small wave toward her, but he would only cower into the shadows slightly, never showing her face. _

_Elmae, who was standing in between her father and Christine as she clutched Christine's skits in her hand, began to cry. Small bead like tears dripped down her elegant face and onto her simple dress, making dark circles where they fell. She was sad Erik wasn't showing himself, even after he'd told her he would show her father, after he promised. _

_"Erik, please come out," Christine had said, stepping toward him and taking his hand in hers. "Please," she whispered, giving him a small and loving smile, pulling him out into the light. _

_Elisamarie's tears immediately ceased and she smiled broadly, tugging on her father's hand. Christine stepped back to where she was as Erik stood in the hall way, his scared face exposed to Henri. He kept his hands firmly behind his back, showing that, no matter how frightening he seemed to appear, he wasn't going to hurt them. _

_But that did not seem to come across to Henri. _

_"Regarde, Père. C'est mon Ange de Musique. Voyez-vous?" Elmae said gleefully, tugging at her father's hand again and pointing to Erik. "Voyaz-vous?" she said again, beginning to appear confused when her father neither looked at her, Erik, or Christine. In fact, he didn't move at all. His face had gone chalk white and his eyes were wide, the chocolate brown of them easily turning into a deep black, scared… Afraid. "Pére?" Elmae spoke quietly, like a sad and confused child, as she was quickly turning out to be. "C'est mon Ange de Musique." _

_When Erik held his hands out to the small girl, offering for her to come to him as he had countless times before, and as Elmae replied to the offer by walking toward him, her arms held out the same why, her father held her back, gripping her tightly to his body. "Non, Elmae, vous restez ici. N'allez pas près de lui," he said to her quietly, looking straight ahead at Erik. "N'allez pas prés de lui," Henri said, repeating his words. _

_With all three person's reactions, Henri's frightened as hers had been, Elmae's sad and confused and Erik's betrayed and hurt, she knew well enough that Henri had been telling Elmae to say away from him, not go to near him. _

_Erik cleared his throat once and looked at Henri. "I apologize," he said quietly before spinning on his heels and fleeing the corridor, back through the mirror and to the lair. _

~*~

Erik began to cry again as he recalled the memory that happened only moments ago. "It's alright, my love, he didn't know… He didn't know," she calmly whispered in his ear.

Erik wrenched away, suddenly angry and frightening. "He did know, Christine. He did know. Elisamarie told him about me—he knew what he would have been seeing," he seethed, clenching his hands into fists and turning around, throwing more things at the wall.

Christine felt tears building up behind her eyes when she saw him acting the way he was, she had never seen him so upset before, except that one night, two years ago. She looked around at the lair, seeing the damage he'd done. All but one of the new mirrors were shattered—ruined—and there was furniture destroyed or tipped over, but the one thing that made Christine most upset was something she hadn't noticed before.

She slowly made her way to the water, going to the edge before slipping of her shoes and stepping into the water. She slowly glided over the water, toward the soaking papers floating all around. She found Erik's leather page booklet at the bottom, only inches under the surface of the water and began to pick up the soaking pages. She didn't even care about her dress, this was more important to her, for reasons that need not be explained. The tears that had built up behind her eyes suddenly spilled over when she looked at the pages, which were either unreadable, or completely blank, the water beginning to turn black from the running ink. She reached the deepest part of the small pool, the water only reaching her knees and she picked up the last paper, uncovering something that had been missing for quiet sometime.

Christine reached down, picking up what was at her feet. She mask seemed like it was staring at her as she pulled it out of the water with one hand. She looked at it sadly, turning back to look at Erik, as she crashing and yelling had stopped. His face had frozen in shock and he was looking at one of the passage ways, the one that lead to Box 5. Christine followed his stare and dropped the things in her hands and arms as she saw two figures, two very familiar figures, pulled back the curtain and a voice called out, "Cette voie, Père, suivez-moi. C'est juste fini ici!" The voice just happened to be Elmae.

Christine quickly picked up the booklet before the pages went floating out again and the mask before it hit be bottom and walked out of the water as Henri and Elmae appeared, looking around. "Oh, my goodness," Henri said, putting his daughter down.

She quickly ran over to Erik, her tiny little arms reached out to him, and he gathered her up in his arms, hugging her tightly. "Oh, mon fille," he said, looking at her like he was her daughter, not Henri's.

"Ms. Daae, I just wanted to tell the monsieur that-" Henri tried to say before Christine held up her hand.

"If you'll excuse me for one moment, my dress is wet, I must change it." Henri nodded and held his ground, not moving. Christine smile and ran around the corner, quickly pulling off her dress and stockings, pulling on a robe before appearing again. She saw Henri staring at the scene before him, Elmae was laughing at something Erik had said and she bent backwards until she was hanging upside down, her knees hooked around Erik's arms, waving to her father. Christine cleared her throat, gaining Henri's attention again. "You were saying?"

He looked at her, gathering his hands behind his back. "I just wanted to apologize for the way I had acted before. I should have known, Elmae had told me the stories, I should have reacted differently that I had." His words were sincere and sad. "I am deeply sorry for the way I was."

Christine smiled but looked at him sternly. "Monsieur Campbell, I am not the one you should be apologizing to, it's the Phantom," Christine said, holding her hand up and gracefully pointing to Erik and Elmae.

Henri nodded and swallowed, approaching the happy and laughing pair, who were now in Elmae's play area and she was showing Erik her new china doll. He stopped by the small area, the toes to his shoes close to the blanket they were sitting on. She screamed and pushed his feet away, brushing off the blanket. "Ah! Non, Père. Ne marchez pas sur la couverture!"

Henri smiled and looked at Erik. "Pardon me, monsieur," he said quietly, his hands behins his back again. "May I ask your name?"

Erik swallowed and looked at Christine. She smiled sweetly and nodded her head once to him. "Erik," he said boldly, strongly. "Erik Montague."

Henri nodded and looked at him. "Monsieur Montague, I wanted to apologize for the way I acted this afternoon, I should have known better than to say the things I said."

Erik gave him a sly glare. "You forbid Elmae to go near me," he seethed once again, handing Elmae one of her toys. "You, sir, are lucky that I am not expelling you from my opera."

Henri's eyes became wide and he started to get flustered, stuttering and tumbling over his words. "Oh, monsieur, please do not do such a thing," he nearly begged, looked at Elmae. "I need this opera, for Elmae, for myself. Monsieur, you don't understand, I am-"

Erik held his hand, quieting him. "I am not going to do that, Henri. I know you need the payment to support your daughter, but I am just saying that I could, for the way you acted."

Henri nodded once, slowly. "Leur avez-vous demandé, le Père? Avez-vous demandé?"

He smiled at Elmae as she said this and Christine stepped forward. "What did she say?" she asked, sitting on the blanket and placing Elmae on her lap.

Erik looked at her, taking one of her hands. "She said, 'Did you ask them, Papa? Did you ask?'"

"Ask what?"

~*~

Christine looked at Elmae, a pile of items set out in front of her. She picked up an apple and smiled. "Le pomme." Elmae nodded. "Apple," Christine said, enunciating the word.

"…App…le," Elmae said, struggling on the word.

"Yes, yes, Elmae, good. Apple."

Elmae clapped her hand together. "Apple!" she squealed, bouncing up and down. "Apple, apple, apple!"

"Yes, oui, oui, mon petite fille!" Christine put the apple to one side and picked up one of her toys. "Marionette?" she said, not quite sure. "Erik, what is the word for doll?"

"Poupée," he called back, spinning around on his piano bench. "The word is poupée."

She nodded and turned to Elmae once more. "Poupée," she said, holding it out to the girl. "Doll."

"Doll," she said easily, reaching her arms out for her toy. Christine handed it to her. "Doll," she said again.

Smiling, Christine picked up another object. "Le stylo," she said, picking up the pen and writing the word down. "Stylo. Pen."

Christine let Elmae hold it, feeling it and occasionally getting ink on her hands. "Pen." Elmae giggled as she placed the pen on her blanket and looked at her inky hands. "Pen!"

"Oui." Christine opened the pen and pulled out what held the ink. "Encre," she said, pointing to the black liquid and the splotches on Elmae's hands. "Ink."

"Enk," Elmae said, proudly.

Christine shook her head. "Non," she said, pointing to the ink again. "Ink." She forced the 'I' out, enunciating it sternly. "Ink."

"Ink." An approving nod from Christine and Elmae jumped up from where she was sitting, running over to Erik. "Ink!" she said, pointing to her hands. "Ink, ink, ink!" She was screaming the word at the top of her lungs, skipping around in a circle and waving her hands about. "INK! APPLE! DOLL! PEN! IIIIIIIIIIIINK!"

Erik laughed loudly, pulling the girl onto his lap. _"Is Miss Christine teaching you to speak English, baby Elmae?" _he asked her, handing her his pen which he had been using to write more music.

_"Yes, sir! And I know four words! Will you teach me another?" _she squealed in delight, bouncing up and down on his leg.

Erik sighed and smiled happily at her. "Oui." He looked around, trying to see what he could teach her. He then realized she should teach her the word of the thing she loved the most. "Musique," he said, playing a song on the organ. "Music."

"Moo… Sics," she said, fumbling for the right word. "Moosics."

Erik shook his head, smiling. "Non, non, non." He played the song again. "Music."

Elmae spun on his lap, banging the keys with her hands. "Music." She hit the keys again. "Music?" Erik nodded. "Music!"

And that's how the day went. Christine and Erik taught Elmae English words until it was time for her to go home and by that time, she new fifty words, along with sentences such as 'I am four years old' or 'I have blue eyes.'

Christine felt proud that she was teaching a little girl to learn English and little did anyone know, this one day of learning could save someone's life.

**Okay, so yeah, that's chapter ten. Hope you enjoyed. Chapter Eleven, I don't know when it'll be finished but it will be soon. Please review! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! THANKS A BUNDLE! **

**Also, the things that were saidin French are 'Look, Papa. It's my Angel of Music. Do you see? Do you see? Papa? It's my Angel of Music,' and 'No, Elmae, you stay here. Don't go near him. Don't go near him.' The other things are obvious. Oh, and Mon petite fille is my little girl, just so you know. **

**Thanks again. **

**BrokenFirePen**


	11. React

**I'M SORRY EVERYONE! I don't know how many times I've said this in my beginning when updating a chapter… But I'm so sorry. I didn't have any inspiration for this and it felt like I was just writing down words. But I finally got it! Gosh, I'm sorry. Would anyone like an 'I'm terribly sorry' fruit basket? EXTREMELY SHORT CHAPTER! Enjoy! **

Christine stood in front of the mirror, running her hand over the smooth bare skin on her stomach. It was nearing seven o'clock, close to the time she and Erik had to leave. Just as this thought ran through her mind, the grandfather clock in the great hall began to chime, marking the hour. She was now only in her underclothes, a transparent black wrap near her on a chair.

In her mind, Christine imagined a big bump captivating her stomach, a child growing inside. She longed for a baby, wished she could have one with the man she loved. She knew he never would, however, for he feared the child would be born looking like him; a monster in the face of an angel. She also knew that he didn't want to bring a child into the world when all they would be able to do was grow up in his lair; the Seat of Sweet Music's Throne.

Reaching next to the mirror, she took the bustle skirt off the mannequin, stepping into it and tying the strings around her waist until they were as tight as they were able to be. She pulled the bright red dress off the chair next to her and stepped into it, slipping her arms through the sleeves.

"Erik, love, could you do up the buttons for me, please?" she said, walking out of their bedroom area, seeing Erik rise from his piano bench and approach her.

She turned around, holding her hair in her hand as he buttoned her dress. When he finished, she faced him, placing her hand on his face. "Can I ask you something?" He nodded, looking deeply into her eyes. "No matter what happens, promise me you'll always love me," she said, her eyes glistening from tears.

The Phantom nodded, placing his hand over hers and turning his head to kiss her palm. "I promise you, Christine, I will never stop loving you. I never did."

* * *

Christine and Erik stood in front of the dark wooden door, his hand gripping hers tightly. He had a black cloak on, a hood masking the scorn side of his face. "Christine?" She looked up at him. "This shouldn't have happened."

"What on earth are you talking about?" she inquired but her question was unanswered when the door was flung open. She quickly looped her arm around his as the light shone on their faces.

A bright faced girl stood in the door frame, a smile spreading across her cheeks. "Papa," she said quickly, running away, leaving the doorway empty. Christine and Erik leaned in at the same time, confused.

After a moment, Henri Campbell came walking to them, Elmae pulling at his sleeve. "Soyez prudent, Elmae, c'est mon meilleur costume." His daughter pouted but released him and he looked up to see the two adults in the doorway. "Oh, my goodness, welcome, welcome. Please, come in," he said, ushering the two people into his home.

Christine and Erik walked in and she easily untied the cloak she was wearing, folding it neatly before hanging on a hook by the door. Erik was hesitant though, lingering in the dark of the room, his hood still masking his face. Elmae scurried over to him, reaching her hands up like a baby asking for a hug.

"Monsieur, monsieur, s'il vous plaît prendre votre manteau au large!" she said, bouncing in her spot. Erik looked to Christine for help, but she merely looked at him, smiling. Elmae jutted her lip out into a pout, looking up at the tall man.

Erik just couldn't resist the pleading of the young girl he cared so much for, so he slipped off his cloak, hanging it next to Christine's. Elmae nodded promptly, spinning on her heals to face Christine. "Vous avez l'air très beau, Madame Christine. Ta robe est la même couleur qui est dévolu Monsieur Erik!"

Christine nodded. "Oui, mon cheri," she said, leaning down to stroke the little girl's cheek once. "What did she say?" Christine asked, leaning back into Erik so Elmae's father didn't hear her.

"She said, very excitedly, that your dress color matched my vest," he whispered, placing his hands on her hips, guarding himself from the outside world; from Henri and his home.

Erik had never been outside of his opera house since the night Raoul and Christine confessed their love for each other, the day his heart was broken so it was only natural for him to not want to leave his Opera Populaire. For now.

**Tremendously short, I think the shortest I've ever done. Sadly. I just, I don't think I'm getting the right vibe with this story. I need more inspiration. **

**French…. The thing Henri said to Elmae was 'Be careful, Elmae. This is my best suit.' **

**First thing Elmae said to Erik was 'Sir, sir, please take off your cloak!' and the second thing was obviously, 'You look very beautiful, Miss Christine. Your dress is the same color as Sir Erik's vest!' **

**Obviously, the clothes will be on my website blog thing… Check it out. Link to that on my profile! :) **


	12. Remind

**Okay, so, this chapter will be short because I'm still having writer's block trouble for this story, and sadly only this story… I think it's because I've been listening to Glee all the time. I'll listen to the Phantom soundtrack just to humor you guys… :) Enjoy. **

**And to Something Witty Goes Here, notice how I didn't say sorry in this one. :) Just for you. **

Christine stood in the lounge with Henri, sipping lightly at a thimble sized glass that was filled with wine. She watched Erik on the floor, playing with Elmae and her dolls. He was smiling happily at her as she kept handing him dolls to hold while she played with the others. There was a small house in front of them, shaped like a Victorian house, with antique rooms and furniture inside.

Christine, though she was enjoying the scene of watching her loved one play with a small child that they both loved, she couldn't help but have her eyes attracted to the young girl's dress. It was quite plain, a bare purple color with small ruffles around the collar and wrist places. She turned to Henri, a sad look on her face.

"I hope you don't mind me asking this, but are there any other dresses that Elisamarie has?" Henri's forehead creased with confusion. "Well, I'm only wondering, seeing as that dress is rather plain."

Henri smiled. "No, Miss Christine, she doesn't. That is, alas, her best dress."

She slowly turned her head back to the two companions on the floor, her mind wandering with possibilities. "Why is that, Monsieur?" she said, placing her wine glass down on a small table and hugging her arms to her body.

Henri's smile dropped and his lips pressed into a hard, white line. Christine looked at him for an answer but her face fell when she saw his expression. "Oh, Monsieur, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you, Henri, if that's what I did," she said, placing her hand on his forearm comfortingly.

He shook his head, smiling at the young girl. "No, no, mademoiselle, you did not upset me. Things have just been difficult in the recent years." Christine took a step closer to him, concerned for the man and his daughter. "After Elisamarie was born, her mother passed on, giving me the responsibility of taking care of my daughter, alone. It has always been a challenge.

"The things that must be done to make sure a young girl has a purposeful and meaningful life. She needs opportunities, toys, things to make her happy. Until only recently, I haven't been able to do as well as I should," he stated quietly, slowly tracing the rim of his glass with his finger. Henri stared at the red liquid, closing his eyes sadly. "I just feel as though I've failed her."

Christine wiped her eyes, stepping even closer to him. "But, can't you see that you haven't?" Henri looked up at her with curiosity and the young girl smiled. "Look at your daughter, Monsieur," she said, holding her hand out to Elmae and Erik playing on the floor. "Can you see how happy she is, playing with her toys, making games and stories?" The man smiled, taking a slow sip from his glass. "You've done everything for her, just by getting her this far, Henri." She smiled. "I imagine she couldn't want a more suitable father."

Henri nodded once to the girl, grateful for her comfort. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Christine. You are such a wonderful person and I thank you for coming into Elisamarie's life; I will be forever grateful."

Christine smiled, leaning forward to kiss the tall man on the cheek before looking back to the two beings playing on the floor adoringly. She felt a tug on her heart; she still longed for a child with Erik even though she knew well enough he would never bring another monster into the world.

Christine just thought he was being absurd.

She shook her head at his foolishness and Henri gave her a confused look. "What is it, Mademoiselle Christine?"

With a shake of her head, Christine tried to let it slip her mind. "Nothing, Henri," she said quietly.

He smiled at her. "Please, Christine. You were so willing to help me, please tell me what's on your mind."

Christine sighed and caught a glance at Erik—he was too captivated in the story game Elmae was playing with him so she looked back to Henri. "I… I want a child," she whispered, glancing back to Erik to see if he had heard.

Henri nodded. "Are you not able to, Christine?"

She shook her head. "No, Henri. Not that at all." She looked to the ground sadly, trying to get rid of the small lump that had arisen in her throat.

"Then what, Mademoiselle?" She looked, once again, to Erik. "He will not have a child." Henri's words were more a statement than a question. Christine nodded once, running her fingers up the bare skin of her arm. "Why not?"

She reached her had to her face, trailing her fingers down her right cheek as she tried to blink away the crystal tears gathering in her eyes. Henri's lips parted slightly and he felt a surge of sorrow for the young girl.

"I am so sorry, Christine," he said, gathering her in his arms and embracing her tightly. "I truly am. I understand your suffering."

She pulled away. "How could you possibly understand how I feel?" she stated rudely, looking at Henri through narrow eyes.

"I know how it feels to want something… With someone. Something you can't have, Mademoiselle." Christine's face instantly fell into a peaceful face. "Allow me to remind you, that you have to be strong and fight for what you want, Christine."

Christine glanced from Henri to Erik to Elmae. "Thank you, Henri. You're very understanding."

He gave her a small nod, smiling. Christine hugged her arms once again, looking thoughtfully at Erik and Elmae. She knew now that she did have to fight for what she wanted. She would fight for Elmae, for her to have more, to help Henri. She would fight for a child; if it was what she wanted then she would fight for it. So, yes, Christine would fight.

She'd fight.

**The end of chapter Thirteen… More coming later! :) **


	13. Reconvince

**I present you with chapter fourteen…. Enjoy! **

When Christine and Erik returned to their home under the Opera Populaire, she turned to him, slowly wrapping her arms around his neck.

"What is it, mon amore?" he whispered, resting his forehead against her own. She smiled, closing her eyes peacefully.

"Erik, my love, please do not be upset with me when I tell you this." He nodded. "Do you remember the day when Isabelle Poirier lost her position playing Jacqueline Monet?" Erik nodded again, playing with the ends of her hair lightly. "Well, do you remember what I told you?"

He thought for a moment. "I remember you told me that you wanted-"

"A child," she whispered, bringing her hand away from his face as tenderly as she had placed it there moments before. "Erik, please…"

His arms went limp, falling from her back to his side. "What?" Christine held her arms tightly. "What? No. No, Christine, I can't—excuse me—I won't do it. No."

He pulled away from her, turning his back. "Erik, please try to understand… I love you, so much. I only want to have a family-"

"Don't try to re-convince me, Christine. I've had my say."

Her eyes filled with hears and she was so close to letting them fall, showing Erik she accepted his answer, but then she remembered what Henri had told her; "You have to be strong and fight for what you want, Christine," so Christine willed her tears to stay.

"If that's your final decision…" Her voice was calm, but Erik could hear the acidic tone to her words. "If you can't support my choices, I'm simply going to have to leave," she said, walking slowly to the covered mirror.

Erik scurried to her side, catching her hand. "No, Christine, you can't leave."

She turned to him, her eyes furious. "How can you say I can't leave when you are forbidding me to have my heart's desire?"

"Christine, believe me when I say that it's not because I do not want a child—I do with all my heart—but I cannot bear the thought of having to shelter another beautiful creature from the world," he whispered, caressing her cheek while he tried to push the thought of hiding Christine from the world out of his head.

She gave him a small smile. "My love, if you want something, you shouldn't give it up. I see how you are with Elmae and you are both so beautiful together. If you are like a second father to her by acting the way you do, why can't you be a real father with a babe of your own?" she said, a crystal tear falling from her eye.

Erik wiped it away, holding her chin in his hands. "Christine, I love you."

She was about to respond, but Erik ducked his head, pressing his lips softly to hers.

**I know it's short, but whatever, the plot's just starting to pick up. Review please! **


	14. Responding

**Here's chapter fifteen. Sorry that it took so long but I've just adjusted to my new school schedule and now that I know what I'm doing, I can write and update more. Enjoy and please review. It keeps me motivated! **

Christine and Erik lay in his bed, each set of eyes boring into the others. Her face was relaxed as his fingers danced along her collar bone, making her skin catch fire. Christine felt at peace in Erik's arms, and as his fingers drifted from her collar bone to the bare skin of her arm, she knew in her mind she had never been more in lone with him than she was in this moment.

This feeling, though, was shattered as Christine and Erik heard a crash from above them in their underground home. Erik gripped her upper arm in protection, making her whimper at the pain.

"Be still," he said to her in a hushed tone, his body drifting closer to hers instinctively.

There was a shriek, high pitched and sharp, that came screaming into Christine's ears and she rose with a start, moving silently so as she could hear for more. A crash of glass shattering and something heavy thundering to the floor rang through Christine's mind and she instantly jumped to her feet, stepping into an under dress and wrapping a knitted shawl around her shoulder before heading to the mirror behind the haunting red curtain. Erik rose and began to dress as well, taking her hand and not arguing as she lead him down the dark corridor.

When the two young people emerged into the theater, they both gasped at what was before their eyes. In the aisles, there were candles lit all along the walls, illuminating the audience while brightening the stage were the candles lining the edge as well as multiple candelabra's placed near the curtains. This beautiful illumination, however, was not what had caught the two persons eyes. The crashing had come from a young woman, distraught and crying, who was destroying the set on stage. There were multiple tables turned with tattered clothing strewn around them. The Phantom's mirror had been broken into millions of pieces of crystal and a wooden chair was lying near by, broken in half.

"Oh, goodness," Christine whispered, fleeing from the box and down a set of stairs, appearing behind the frame to the Phantom's mirror. She slowly walked toward the girl, reaching out to touch her arm.

"They replace me; wrench the position from my hands, how could they be so crass, how could they-" Christine took the young girl's elbow in her hand. "Must they always- Oh." The girls stopped talking as she say Christine standing behind her.

"My deepest apologies, Madame," she whispered, giving Christine a small curtsy. "I will repair all of this."

Christine held her hand up, dismissing the comment. "Have no worries about this, Isabelle. Come, tell me what is going on."

* * *

Isabelle and Christine were now sitting at a table they had over turned. A kerchief was clenched in Isabelle's hand as she wept, dabbing her eyes and nose whenever she could.

"And now that wretched woman is trying to take my Matthew away from me; as if she hasn't caused me enough grief," the young girl sobbed, her shoulders shaking as she cried into her hands.

Above them, Christine could see Erik, his body wavering slightly as he held his nerve. She flicked her eyes back to Isabelle's sobbing figure. "Is he responding to her, my girl?" She nodded her head, and Christine sighed, her fingers pressed to her mouth.

"I just do not understand," she cried, looking into Christine's eyes with her own tear filled ones.

For a moment, Christine thought about what Isabelle said, the something dawned on her. "Isabelle, may I tell you a secret?" The girl nodded. "I am Jacqueline Monet."

For a moment, Isabelle stared at her in confusion, the she spoke. "I beg your pardon. I don't quite understand what you are saying."

"My name is Christine Daae and I am in love with the Phantom." Isabelle's eyes grew wide. "When I was a young girl, I was in love with a boy named Raoul. When my father died, I was taken here to the opera house. This is where I met my Angel of Music. This performance you are in, it's as true and as real as you and I."

Isabelle gasped, her hand fluttering to her chest in shock. "You... Madame, you don't mean to tell me that all of these dreadful things happened to you!" she exclaimed in a hushed tone.

Christine nodded slowly. "They have, Isabelle which is why my words are true when I tell you this- You needn't worry about Matthew. If he truly loves you, he will stay by your side until the very end." Christine heard a laugh and she knew Erik was smiling.

"But, Madame, if the performance is a true story, does that mean the end has been changed?" Christine's brow creased. "I only ask because in the story, you leave with Roux, but here you are."

"No, Isabelle, the story was not changed. My- Raoul has passed on, but before he was gone, he told me to follow my dreams. They were to find my Angel; I did what my heart desired, what it told me to believe."

"I'm sorry, Madame, I shouldn't have asked you such a question."

Christine put her hand over Isabelle's. "Don't worry, Isabelle. You did not know." The girl nodded gratefully. "How... How old are you?"

"I am seventeen, Madame," she said quietly, folding her kerchief and tucking it into a hidden pocket of her dress.

"Excellent," Christine said with a small smile on he face. She looked up at Erik and he gave her a sure nod, a stern look on his masked face. "Well, Isabelle Poirier, we will do something about your Matthew, and your placement in the the show. Just wait; The Phantom of the Opera has a plan for you; you'll see."

**Review, please. Let me know how you like the pick up in the story. **


	15. Reality

Christine and Isabelle sat in Box Five, hidden from the people in the theatre as they both waited for everyone to file in. Isabelle had a china cup of cold tea in her hand, something had hadn't touched since the two of them sat down. Every once and a while, Christine would reach over and touch Isabelle's arm comfortingly, smiling at the young girl next to her.

As the Opera Populaire cast entered the theatre, they all gasped at what was on the stage; the ruined set and props.

"Who's done this!" Monsieur LeBlanc shouted, kicking a broken stool. "Show yourself!" There was silence. "Who claims responsibility?" The young girl's hands began to shake and Christine had to cover Isabelle's hands with her own for fear of being heard. "Claim responsibility and punishment will be small!"

"Whats happening in my theatre!" The Phantom's voice boomed through the Opera House, making everyone startled. "Flourished shouts bringing me from my peace, so, tell me, Monsieur LeBlanc, why are you screaming at these actors?"

The man didn't answer. "Speak!"

The china cup in Isabelle's hands shattered as it slipped from her hands and fell to the ground when it slipped from her hands.

"Monsieur, the set has been destroyed," the shaken men said together, pointing to the stage. "We open tonight—what are we to do?" There was silence from the Phantom and everyone stood where they were, their bodies frozen. "Monsieur?"

"This stage in not the focus of my problems," he boomed, Isabelle's hands shaking even more. "Where is Sandrine?"

The sickly thin woman stepped forward, Etienne close on her heels. "Monsieur..."

"And Isabelle, where is the young girl?"

Monsieurs LeBlanc and DeSaulneirs turned around, their eyes searching the crowd for her. "Mademoiselle, come forward!"

Christine held Isabelle fast, her hands stroking the young girl's hair soothingly. "You must put your faith in Erik, Isabelle. He will do good by you, my girl."

Isabelle nodded, but cowered closer to Christine when Monsieur LeBlanc screamed her name. "She appears to not be here, Monsieur. Marie!" He pointed to a young girl around the age of twelve. "Check for Isabelle in the girl's dorms!"

Marie curtsied and then scampered off the stage. She returned moments later. "She's not there, Monsieur," she said, a flustered look on her face. "She was not in her bed; it was neat, as was in last evening."

"Matthew, do you know where this young girl could be?" Erik's question was more a statement.

The man stepped forward, appearing next to Sandrine. "I know nothing, Monsieur. I haven't seen Isabelle since the morning yesterday."

"How can all of you be so consumed in the lives you possess to not know of the whereabouts of this precious young girl!" The Phantom's words grew louder and more intimidating as he spoke, making everyone shrink back at his last words.

Sandrine, who was still next to Matthew, took a step towards the edge of the stage, toward where they all thought the Phantom sat. "Why is this child to important? She plays a baby's roll."

"One that you yourself should be playing had you not been so selfish and had my two managers had more common sense!"

A smirk formed on Sandrine's face. "Well, there is nothing to be done about it now. The choice has been made."

"Once again, you are wrong!" Sandrine held her ground, not flinching away from his words. "Something can—and will—be done about this!"

She began fuming. Her hands clenched into fists and her face turned a brilliant shade of red. "I have this part now, Monsieur. Isabelle, that baby, she does not know that part. She hasn't learned it."

Suddenly, Isabelle stood up. "I have." Everyone turned to face Box Five to see Isabelle, holding her head high and her chest back. Christine looked up at the young girl, her eyes wide with shock. "I thought I should learn it... I thought that perhaps I would be given my roll back."

Sandrine laughed with a high pitched squeal. "As if you could take my roll away from me!" she said, hysterical. "You're just a child!"

Isabelle held her head higher. "I am not," she said quietly, glancing at Christine quickly before striding out of Box Five.

The Phantom tsked his tongue once. "Sandrine!" The woman stopped laughing. "DeSaulneirs, LeBlanc, do something about Sandrine and Isabelle. Now. If you don't... There will be hell to pay."

**REVIEW! **


	16. Reunion

**So, after about a bazillion years of debating whether of not I liked this chapter, I finally finished with something close to likeable. Hopefully, you all won't be to mad at me for taking too long? Maybe? Yes? No? Okay, moving on... **

** You'll probably forget to review, so I'll remind you later instead of now... **

That same morning, Christine was sitting in her and Erik's bedroom, playing with the little kitten, Patapouf, which Elmae had promptly left in their home. Her mind began to wander, thinking about the young girl. She thought of Elmae's wardrobe, how poor it was even though Henri was doing quite well for the both of them.

"Erik?" she suddenly said, holding the petite kitten close to her chest as she rose from the bed and walked over to him sitting on his piano bench.

He turned to her, his fingers pressed to his lip in thought. "What is it, mon amore?" he said softly, taking her free hand in his.

She sat next to him, placing the kitten on her lap and sighing. "Elmae has no proper dresses," Christine said slowly, stroking the kitten's soft fur. Erik nodded, agreeing but not saying anything. "I was thinking... I should make her a dress."

Erik looked at her, one of his eyebrows arched. "Make her a dress? What do you mean, Christine."

"I mean exactly what I said. The poor girl has no proper clothes. They are either too big or not done up enough. She deserves something that fits her and that is elegant enough for her." Again, Erik nodded and didn't speak. "But, I would need to go to the shops to buy fabric..." she said hopefully, giving him an angelic look, her beautiful brown eyes sparkling like diamonds.

The Phantom laughed, kissing her forehead and embracing her lightly. "Oh, my dear Christine," he said, running his ringers through her hair. "Of course you may go. I will even lend you the money you need." Her face lit up. "Anything for you, my love."

Christine giggled and threw her arms around Erik's neck, embracing him again. "I know you are not as fearsome you show yourself to be," she said into his chest, her eyes momentarily closed. "You are such a dear soul, so kind and loving." He reached down, bringing her to look him in the eyes. "I love you," she whispered before he ducked his head down, lightly pressing his lips to hers.

Once Christine was dressed in a suitable dress to go into the village, Erik handed her a small drawstring bag that clinked and shuffled when it moved. She looked inside and saw twenty francs. "Erik!" she said with a gasp. "This is more than I need! You shouldn't be giving this much to me."

Erik laughed, hooking one finger under her chin while he wrapped his other hand around her waist. "So naïve," he said quietly, placing soft kisses all over her face. "Fabric for a dress is much more than you believe it to be."

"Oh?" Christine said with a slightly teasing tone to her voice. "Is it more expensive?" He nodded. "Then, I will make sure I use every last franc, my dearest love."

He gave her a strict nod. "See that you do."

The young girl stood on her toes, pressing her lips to his before pulling a shawl around her shoulders and stepping into the boat. Erik opened the gate for her and allowed her to push the small bat through before he closed it again, going back to his music. He could hear Christine begin to sing as she floated down the waterway and he smiled to himself, writing the notes down on paper.

Christine reached the end of the water, stepping onto the rock surface and leaning the staff against the wall, somewhere hidden but in a place she could find it when she returned. As quickly as she could, Christine rushed up the stairs, the back swaying by her side—she'd tied it to the waist of her dress. The money rustled around as she reached a long hallway with the glass at the end, the place where her underground home turned into her old dressing room.

Quickly, she looked through the one sided mirror and breathed a sigh of relief when no one was inside. She pushed the glass and it slid to her left, allowing her to step into the pink room with shining floors. Christine pushed it closed again, making sure everything was as it had been before she fled from the room, down a corridor to the grand front lobby, where servants were washing the floors and dusting the tallest statues.

"Bonjour, à tous," she said brightly, and quite loudly, breaking everyone from their busy work to wish them a good morning.

"Madame Christine!" they called back, giving her smiles and head nods as she walked buy. She laughed, waving at the women scrubbing the floor and blowing kisses to the men on tall ladders with feather dusters. When she reached the doors, they all called, "Au revoir, Mademe," to her, making her laugh again.

"Au revoir," she said, pushing through the doors and out to the streets. "Now, to the shops."

Christine headed down the road. It was a surprisingly warm day for one in winter, so warm in fact, that she let her shawl rest lightly on her arms instead of pulled tightly around her shoulders. As briskly as she could, smiling at those who walked buy and dropping a few coins into the hat of a man sitting in front of the church.

She had only walked for a few minutes before she reached small shops at the end of the road, all of them clustered together as if they could only be in that area and no further. Christine found the fabric store and entered, seeing that it was warm and cozy inside, with bundles of different colors scattered through out the place.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," a man behind the counter said as he eyes her carefully. "Is there anything I could assist you with?"

Christine shook her head. "No, thank you. Not at this moment." He nodded once and let her be, allowing her to browse the store, finding a beautiful sheen of fabric that was of a dark color, a deep crimson red. She found another that was black and even though Elmae was only four, she bought the two dark colors anyway, as well as lace and frill for detailing.

"How much fabric will you be needing, mademoiselle?"

Christine thought for a moment, staring thoughtfully at the two fabrics. "All of it, Monsieur. There isn't much of each, and it is only for a small girl of four years," she said, hearing footsteps as someone stepped up behind her. The man nodded, taking them off of their rolls and making them neat, folding the lace and frill into the fabric so they wouldn't fall out. "How much do I need to pay?" she asked slowly, lifting the drawstring bag from her skirt.

"Ten francs, mademoiselle," he said, holding his hand out as she gave him the money. "Thank you so much, au revoir."

"Au revoir," she said politely, turning to step out of the way for the next person who was buying fabric. She stopped, though, seeing a face she knew was familiar but she couldn't place who it was. Suddenly, she remembered. "Oh, my."

The young woman looked up, her blond hair, falling around her shoulders. "Christine?" she said slowly as if she was dreaming.

"Meg?"

Suddenly, the blond girl hugged Christine, her eyes wide. "Mother and I had thought you were dead," she said in a petrified voice, her hand clasping over Christine's when she pulled away from her. "When we didn't hear news of your survival, we assumed the worst."

Christine smiled. "I'm alright, Meg," she said, holding her old friend's hand tighter. Meg gave her a worried look. "I am. The opera house has been restored and they are performing a show by the Phantom-"

"Is he still...?" she asked quietly, interrupting Christine. The brunette nodded, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. "Oh, goodness."

"Yes... I suppose you could say that he is a changed man. So kind and caring now."

Meg gasped. "You've seen him?"

Christine stepped closer to Meg. "I have. Meg... The Phantom and I, we are in love."

She gasped again, but much quieter this time. "But, Christine, what about Raoul? You two were so in love," she said in a voice that seemed to want Christine to remember those times two years ago. "Yes, I remember the first time you saw him again so well..." Meg looked at her friend. "So, what of Raoul?"

"He... He passed on... Two months ago." Meg put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "But, I love the Phantom. Erik is such a gentle creature..."

Meg's face showed confusion. "Erik? Is... Is that his name?"

Christine smiled. "Yes, Meg. Erik Montague." Meg nodded slowly. "You should come with me to the Opera house. It's so beautiful now," she said, desperate to talk about a different subject.

She sighed. "I would, but I still have some shopping to do. I must also go to the food market." Christine nodded understandingly. "If you would like to come with me, I could come with you after."

Then, Christine smiled.

"Oh, my goodness," Meg breathed as she entered the Opera House. "Christine, it's even more beautiful then I remember."

Meg was overjoyed she was back in the opera house, so happy in fact that she began to cry, small tears trailing down her porcelain face. Christine touched her friend's arm, giving her a warm smile.

"Would you like to meet him?" she said quietly, her brown eyes sparkling.

Meg looked at her. "Do you mean that?" Christine nodded. "Of course I would," she said, suddenly scared, but excited.

"Wonderful." She took Meg's hand. "Follow me."

The two of them hurried to the dressing rooms, entering Christine's old one. She pushed the mirror to the side and Meg had a sudden flash of the night two years ago when she discovered the mirror door. They stepped into the the frame, closing it when they were through. Though she was older now, Meg stayed close to Christine, the eerie darkness of the corridor frightening her.

A sudden strike of organ notes caused Meg to scream and held tightly to Christine. "It's alright, Meg," Christine said soothingly as they reached the lagoon water. "It's Erik." She disappeared for a moment and came back holding the staff. "He's writing his music."

They stepped into the boat and Christine pushed them off, guiding them until they reached the gate, which opened without Christine even saying anything.

When they reached the side, Christine and meg climbed out. "Wait here," she said in a whisper, scampering over to where Erik had his back turned to them. She kissed his cheek and stroked his hair a few times. "Erik, my love, you have a visitor."

He didn't respond, seeming to be afraid that any sudden movement would destroy everything that surrounded him. "Who- Who is it?"

"Someone you should remember from a long time ago." He looked at her and she waved Meg over, sitting the opposite way of him on the bench as she waited for Meg to reach them.

She took both of their hands and placed them together, palm to palm. Meg flinched, thinking his hands were going to be cold and dry, but relaxed when they were warm and soft. Erik looked at the delicate and in his and instantly, he knew.

"The little ballerina..." he said quietly, squeezing her hand lightly. "The young Giry girl. Yes, I remember you."

Meg let out a sigh of relief at the same time as Christine and Erik smiled, turning around to face her. It was the first time Meg had seen Erik's face up close, and it was nothing like she had expected it to be. Joseph Bouquet had said he never had a nose, and that one eye was so far into his head that he could make it that sometimes it was visible and other times, it wasn't.

But, Meg could see a nose and both of his eyes. "It's wonderful to meet you," she said, not saying anything about his face, afraid it would offend him, no matter what she said.

Erik smiled. "Nice to meet you as well."

** AND THATS CHAPTER SIXTEEN MY DEARIES! **

** Review! **


	17. Rediscover

**Alrighty, my beautiful readers. This is chapter seventeen… It's performance night… EEP! **

"Please, Christine, keep in touch with me. Mother and I miss you," Meg said as she embraced her friend tightly. Meg looked to Erik. "And… Erik… Thank you for showing me." She reached out and took his hand. "It meant quite much to me."

Erik nodded, wrapping his warm hand around hers. "You're welcome, Meg. It was wonderful to meet you. Officially." Meg laughed and hugged him. "I hope to see you soon," he said, holding Christine's hand for a moment before the two girls left the lair through the mirror.

As they reached the main entrance, Meg turned to Christine. "Will you be alright, here, alone with him?" Christine smiled. "It is clear you love each other, though, I can't help but wonder and worry, things have gone awry with him, I just want to make sure you will be safe."

"Of course I will," Christine said, embracing her friend again. "Erik is different now. He's changed."

Meg nodded. "Well, as I said before, please write to us. We would love to hear from you."

A smile spread across the brunette's face. "Meg, there is a performance tonight," she said, her hair falling in front of her face. "It's written by Erik, _The Phantom of the Opera._" Meg gasped. "I feel that you would recognize the story and names of the characters."

"You mean that it's what happened? Exactly?" Christine nodded. "I don't know if that would be so wise… What if something happens? It would break Mother's heart."

Christine made a face of understanding. "That's quite alright, Meg. I just thought I would let you know, in case your mother wanted to come back…" she said quietly, trailing off at the end. "But, it was so wonderful to see you again."

Meg hugged her for the last time then left the Opera Populaire, leaving Christine standing alone in the center of the main entrance. She stayed there for a moment before it suddenly dawned on her that the only parts of the opera house that she'd seen since she'd been there for five months was that of the lair, her old dressing room and the theatre. She hadn't been back to the girl's sleeping dorms or anywhere past that since that faithful night.

She decided that she would go look.

Christine slowly crept up the spiral staircase, the metal steps creaking under her feet. There was dust and old fabric from curtains around her as she reached the top, a pile of burned wood blocking the doors to the dorms. She stepped toward it and heard a rip. Looking down, she saw her dress caught on an old set piece, a brand new hole in her skirt. She sighed, taking a step back to carefully pull it away.

With a sigh, she marched toward the pile of wood, picking up pieces and moving them away, her hands getting covered in dust and ash. Once and a while, she would get a cut on her hand, but she ignored it, clearing it all away in no time at all. The door was the same way it had been when she stayed there and it was as if the fire had never reached that part of the opera house, but she knew it had gone everywhere. She reached her hand out, pushing down the dusty handle and swinging the door open.

She gasped. "Oh, my goodness," she whispered as she stepped into the room, her footsteps silent from the layers of dust that was on the paneled floor. All of the beds were as they where two years ago, neatly made with photographs on the side tables as well as hairbrushes and perfume bottles on the dressing tables. There was only one bed with a traveling trunk at the end of it—her bed—and she felt her heart begin to pound as she stepped toward it.

Christine knelt down in front of it, not caring if her soiled her dress; it was already torn and black from the wood. Her shaky hand reached out and lifted the latch, opening the trunk. When she did, Christine began to cry. Photographs of her father and mother she had thought were burned were still as perfect as they were when she was younger, all of her old dresses folded neatly on the inside. They were small, ones she had worn when she was only twelve or thirteen. At the bottom, there was one white dress what was the only one she was able to take with her when she came to the Opera Populaire; a white frock with lace on the hem and sleeves.

Holding it close to her chest, Christine then placed it back in the trunk and locked it. Standing up, Christine used all of her strength and lifted the trunk from the floor, struggling to exit the room with it in her arms. She carefully went down the side of the loft to the doors which lead to the seats. She rested for a moment before continuing through the dark corridor and to the mirror.

"Erik!" she called, her voice strained as she appeared with the trunk in her arms.

He turned to her and instantly rushed over, taking it out of her arms and placing it on the ground by her feet. "What happened, Christine?" he said, holding her arms out so he could look at her now destroyed dress. "This is ruined…"

Christine just smiled. "It's so wonderful, Erik," she said excitedly, kneeling down in front of the trunk again. "Do you know what is in here, Erik?" He sat down beside her, opening the trunk and let his eyes wander over the fabrics and photographs and pieces of parchment.

"I don't understand, Christine. What is all this?" He reached for some photographs and looked at them—Christine as a child, some of a man and a woman he could only assume was her mother and father. Some of her and the woman, some of her and the man. "Your mother and father."

Christine nodded happily, pulling more pictures out. "Erik, this is all that's left of my past and to find it back in the girl dormitories… Erik! This is a miracle."

He laughed, leaning over to kiss her. "You're covered in filth," he said, running his fingers through her ash covered hair. "Christine, you need to clean yourself."

She stood up, her torn up skirt brushing around her ankles. Unlacing the boots she was wearing, Christine walked slowly into the lagoon, her dress leaving dust floating on the surface. When she had walked up to her thighs, she ran her fingers along, creating ripples in the crystal water that continued far in front of her. She splashed lightly, smiling when she saw Erik chuckling on the edge of the lake. Christine smiled at him, walking in deeper until she was at the gate. Beaconing him over with her finger, Erik started splashing through the water, slowing his pace when he reached her.

He traced his finger on her jaw bone and she tackled him childishly, making them both fall under the water, their whole bodies getting submerged. Under the water, Christine felt him press his lips to hers. They surfaced the water, still kissing, water drops trickling down their faces. There was giggling and they quickly pulled apart to see Elmae standing at the edge of the water.

"Allo!" she squealed, her French accent faltering her barely understandable English.

Erik smiled, walking out of the water with Christine. "Bonjour, Elmae," he said, kissing her cheek lightly and trickling water onto her face. "How are you, my dear?"

The young girl didn't answer for a moment, as she was thinking about how to answer, then she answered, "Bien, merci!"

"A l'anglias," he said, telling her to speak it in English.

"Well!" He smiled.

Christine, who was changing into a new, dry dress, called to the little girl from the bedroom. "Elmae, mon cherie, I have something for you!"

The little girl looked at Erik for a translation and he smiled, telling her in French. Suddenly, she laughed, running to Christine, who was walking around the corner. "Here," she said, walking to the trunk and lifting the white dress from the inside. "This, my dear girl, is for you."

Christine handed the dress to the girl and she looked at it, confused. Erik laughed, then knelt down next to her, whispering in her ear. Then, Elmae threw her arms around Christine neck.

"Th- Thank you."

**Alright. There. Chapter something or other. Review, please. I feel like I'm losing all of you. Like, it's almost as if you're not there anymore. **


	18. Recognize

**Okay, here we go with eighteen. Hope you like it! **

**And so you guys know, I'm doing updates on the website I have for the clothes, so, you'll know what's going on with the stories and whatnot. I'll try to get it done every day or so, so keep your eyes peeled for that. The link is on my profile and if you need help getting to the page, the URL is .com. :) **

**Okay, enjoy! **

**For SuperWriter683, for the idea around Sandrine… You'll see. Anyway, this is for you, girl!**

Chapter Eighteen

Monsieurs LeBlanc and DeSaulniers both sat in the small office, Monsieur LeBlanc sitting patiently at a table and Monsieur DeSaulniers pacing back and forth.

"What is to be done about this?" LeBlanc asked, taking a sip from his brandy glass. "We know too well what will happen if that young girl is given the part of Jacqueline. Mademoiselle Faraday will simply leave. She will never return, which ensures failure here at the Opera Populaire."

Monsieur DeSaulniers paused his pacing only for a moment to look at his dear friend and business partner. "There will be nothing but trouble with her," he said, continuing his pacing after he had taken a quick sip of his drink. "And Isabelle… The girl is too young. The Opera Ghost, he may have a desire for her to be such an important part, but, her inexperience."

LeBlanc nodded his head in agreement. "But, Sandrine, she has no place in the opera house…"

"Quite true, yet Isabelle hasn't one either." They both took long drinks from their glasses. Placing his hands on the table, Monsieur DeSaulniers sighed. "I believe we have come to an agreement."

"We have." There was a quite knock on the door. "Yes?" LeBlanc said, turning to see the young girl from earlier in the day, Marie, standing in her ballerina dress. "What is it, young girl?"

She gave them a small curtsy. "The madam's et monsieur's wish to know the decision," she said in a shy voice, her dainty face slightly twisted with worry.

The two men stood straight. "Ah, of course," DeSaulniers said, pulling his coat onto his shoulders and adjusting it. "Take us to them, mademoiselle."

Marie nodded, leading them to where the whole company was waiting on the stage of the theatre. "After much thinking, Monsieur DeSaulniers and I have come to the agreement that…" Isabelle tightly held onto Matthew's hand, her breath catching. "…That Sandrine will be playing Jacqueline in tonight performance of The Phantom of the Opera."

With a smirk, Sandrine stood up. "Merci bien, Monsieurs." She turned to Isabelle. "Poor child," she said, her voice drifting to Isabelle's ears and seeming to burn them. "If you ever dare to try to take my place in any productions again, little baby, I will see to it myself that you are never going to see light again." Sandrine was advancing toward Isabelle and her eyes seemed to be filled with fire. "I am the star here, l'étoile du spectacle, and you cannot, and will not, take that away from me."

With a jab of her finger into Isabelle's chest, she turned away and glided out of the theatre calling. "I must tell ma tante," loud enough for Isabelle to hear.

"This is not to be spoken," Monsieur DeSaulniers said, fidgeting nervously with his tie. "The Opera Ghost, he is enraged. And, not a word to that Christine woman. She is too nosy for her own good." Henri, who was standing next to Isabelle protectively like Matthew, was about to speak, arguing that point, but was interrupted. "Let us go on as if he hadn't disturbed us and on with the show!"

The two men left, a few of the ensemble came around Isabelle, giving her upset looks. The young girl, Marie, stood in front of her and giving her a quick embrace before scampering away. Isabelle sat nearly alone in the theatre, resting herself against a trunk prop. Everyone else had retreated from their places on the stage and was going about the rest of their day as if nothing had happened, as if Isabelle's dream hadn't been taken away from her.

She felt her stomach turn over, then tighten into a knot. She couldn't move. She didn't want to move. Henri and Matthew stayed next to her for a moment, then her fiancé knelt down. "Ma amore, are you alright?" he asked, holding her face in his hands and looking at her with sad eyes. She nodded, but said nothing. "They are serving supper. Will you come with Henri and I?"

"I will join the two of you later," she said quietly, placing her hand over his. Matthew didn't speak, and when she gave him her best smile, he stood and walked with Henri out of the theatre.

Then, it was silent. Isabelle, who was still sitting as rigid as she had ever been, suddenly slumped her posture and cried into her hands, silent sobs escaping her. She fell to her knees, her skirts billowing around her as she leaned on one hand, the other one covering her eyes. She felt destroyed pieces of the set under her and scraps of wood were digging into her hand, but she ignored it and only felt her torso fall forward, her face pressing into the layers of her skirts.

After a few moments, she felt a small hand tapping the nape of her neck, which was uncovered from the swoop of her dress. Looking up, she saw Henri's little daughter, Elisamarie, standing next to her. She hadn't had many encounters with the little girl, since she usually wanders off with Madame Christine, but in this moment, the look on Elisamarie's face made Isabelle want to pull her in close and embrace her tightly. And when the small girl sat down on Isabelle's lap and wrapped her small arms around her waist, that's exactly what she did.

* * *

"You're such a beautiful girl, Elmae," Christine said, fixing the little girl's hair from behind. She pulled it back, braiding it before pulling it into a bun. She held it there with her best pins, ones that had little jewels at the top, and when she was finished, she turned Elmae toward her. "Ma belle fille!"

Elmae smiled and hugged Christine. "Merci," she said, beginning to skip away.

Christine grabbed her arm. "A l'anglais!"

"Th-Thank you." Christine kissed her forehead then released her arm.

"Allez, ma fille. Erik est pour vous."

The little girl instantly started giggling and then bounced away, turning around a corner and disappearing. Christine smiled to herself. She's lived in Paris for most of her life, and never before had she known how to speak French. It was only when the young girl came into her life did she begin to learn. And she was so proud that a four year old was learning English. At such a young age she was learning so quickly.

She let out a sigh, and then Christine stood up and began getting ready herself. She was still in her torn up dress, but she had rid herself of any ash and filth so she quickly undressed, going to where she kept her dresses. There was one dress that she had planned to wear for tonight, an elegant black and green dress with a bustle and a corset back. She stepped into it, pulling the strings tight before tying it at the top as tightly as she could. There was a mirror that was resting in their bedroom, with a dresser under it. It was where Christine kept her hairbrush and pins, so she walked over running the brush through her hair a few times.

With her hand armed with hair pins, she did up her hair and made sure she had a few curls hanging down her back. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she slipped her feet into her velvet boots, lacing them up. Her fan was on the table next to her where she had put it, but the gloves she had placed alongside them were missing.

"Erik, dear, do you know what happened with my gloves? I had them right with my fan and now they're gone!" she called, searching around the table to see if they had slipped behind or around it. Erik didn't respond. "Erik!" She heard some whispering then Elmae came around the corner with Christine's gloves on her arms. "Well, my goodness!" She planted her hands on her hips. "Mademoiselle Elmae, Vous êtes celui qui a pris mes gants?" The little girl nodded, smiling as she walked over to Christine with her arms held out, allowing her to pull them off and slip them onto her over hands.

"Pretty!" the little girl said, giggling as Christine opened her fan and lightly fanned Elmae with it. "Pretty Madame!"

"Merci, ma fille."

Elmae walked out of the room and went to Erik. "Elle est belle!" she said excitedly, pulling at his arm and pointing to the opening that lead to the bedroom. "Trés belle!"

"Very pretty?" Elmae nodded. "Christine, the girl says you look very pretty…" From inside the room, he heard her laugh. "Will you grace us with your presence?"

At that moment, she emerged from the bedroom and he just stared. She looked like an angel. She was an angel. Never in his life had he ever imagined someone to be as beautiful as she was. Erik didn't even have words that could describe this moment and he didn't really want words to describe her. There was nothing that would do her justice.

"Christine, you look stunning." She reached the two people and smiled, but her smile faded slightly when she saw Erik's white mask pressed to his face, held in place by what seemed to be nothing. "You are so beautiful."

"Thank you, Erik." She rested her hand on his chest and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "You are very kind." Erik grinned, placing his lips against her forehead. "You look dashing." She smiled when she noticed that his vest matched her dress, much like they had matched when they went for dinner at Henri's.

"Thank you, mon amore." Elmae scrambled to Christine, who picked her up and lightly balanced her on her hip. "Shall we go? I fear that it will start and we'll miss it."

Christine nodded. "Of course. On allez?" she said to the little girl, who nodded happily.

The three of them all headed to the mirror. Though she had been through it hundreds of times, Elmae still found herself burying her face into Christine's neck and hugging her tightly. Christine, in return, kissed her head and held her close. Water drops echoed from the walls, making the young girl jump every time the noise reached her ears and she only looked up when Erik whispered to her that there was light ahead.

They emerged into the corridor that led straight to Box 5 and Christine parted from Erik, going back stage to visit Isabelle and Henri. The little girl saw her father and squirmed out of Christine's arms, instantly running to him when her feet hit the floor. He knelt down, wrapping her up in his arms tightly and kissing her nose. It made Christine's heart ache. Although Erik had agreed to a child only the day before, nothing would make the aching stop until she had one of her own, and she didn't think that she would be able to have one for what seemed like years.

"Christine!" Henri said, bringing her from her trance and back to the bustling rooms back stage. She looked at the man before her. He was dressed in a suit with his hair brushed back and a white mask covering the right half of his face. "Lovely to see you."

They kissed each other's cheeks. "And you, Henri. I came to see you and Isabelle. Where is she?"

His face grew solemn. "Isabelle… She… She is upset."

"Why on Earth is she upset, Henri?" He didn't answer. He couldn't. He was under orders. "Henri, what's happened?"

"This is an outrage!" The two of them froze and Christine felt Elmae grab onto her leg. "What is-a this doing here-a?"

Christine recognized that voice. It was one she herself cowered from when she was a ballerina in the Opera Populaire. One that she had hoped she would never have to hear again. Turning around, her worst fears were confirmed. The woman was storming around, throwing valuable props and set pieces, lucky that men were following her around, ready to catch them. When she spotted Christine, she stopped.

The next words that came out of her mouth were said in a threatening whisper, one that Christine knew too well. Pointing her finger at the brunette, she hissed, "Christine Daae."

With a respectful nod, Christine threw on a sly smile.

"Hello. What a surprise to see you here… Carlotta."

**OOOOH! What now? Yes, you are jealous. And, what? The Diva's back? The anarchy of it all, right! Madness. Well, whatever. **

**I miss you guys! Can we make a goal? How about, 105? Yeah? Just eight? I know there are more than eight of you, come on guys. Show me the love! :P **

**BYE! **


	19. Recollection

**Alrighty, then. Things are starting to pick up, are they not? You'll see what I mean. Read the story.**

**P.S. I also fixed all the grammar and spelling mistakes I could find. If you see anymore, message me, don't leave a comment, and copy the sentense into the message and I'll fix it. If there are no more grammar and spelling mistakes, tell me what you thought of the chapter in a review, because some of you failed to do so. :) Love you all, you're amazing. **

The two women stared at each other, one a look of distaste, the other a look of friendliness and a slight smirk.

Carlotta, who was dressed in clothes much different than the divine fabrics she used to wear, took a step closer to the old Prima Ballerina. "What are you-a doing here-a?" she leered, pushing her chest out so she was looking down her nose at Christine.

Elmae, who had returned from seeing her father, hid behind Christine's billowing skirt. "I run the opera how now, Carlotta." The Italian woman gasped silently. "I returned here months ago, and gained ownership from the Opera Ghost."

Carlotta was about to respond but Sandrine rushed up to her, wearing the same white dress Christine had worn when she was singing the aria in her first stage debut. "Carlotta, there is a man refusing me my right to center stage."

Christine stared at the blonde-haired woman. Isabelle was supposed to be wearing that dress, and Sandrine should be wearing Meg's ballerina dress. "What is happening here?" she inquired, reaching out to touch the skirt of the dress lightly. "Why are you wearing this dress?"

"Isabelle stepped down from the position."

Elmae's head poked out from behind Christine at the diva's words, but Christine didn't notice that the little girl was pulling lightly on her skirt.

"You-a see-a, Isabelle didn't think-a that she was-a good enough-a for the role." Christine narrowed her eyes when the two women smirked. "She-a let my-a sister's daughter have-a the part."

The brunette's eyes widened slightly. "Sandrine is your sister's daughter?" Carlotta nodded. "I should have known," she whispered to herself, looking at her lace covered hands.

"What did you-a say-a?"

She snapped her head up to look back at Carlotta. "I don't recall," she fibbed, taking Elisamarie's hand and storming away, leaving Carlotta standing with Sandrine, shouting something in Italian that Christine never wanted to understand.

As the girls shuffled past frantic people who were readying themselves for the performance, Elmae tried to get the attention of Christine; she just had to tel her that the women were lying. But, the older girl seemed to not notice as they made their way up to Box Five, where Erik was sitting conspicuously. She sat next to him, holding Elmae in her lap as the little girl busied herself with a ratted, old china doll.

"Is there something wrong, my love?" Erik asked, subtly tracing her collar bone with his finger.

Christine's breath caught in her throat as his touch. "No, there is nothing wrong, Erik," she said, taking his hand in hers. She was about to tell him what happened with Isabelle and Sandrine, but the new chandelier began to fade. Erik smiled to her as they turned toward the stage as the first notes of the overture struck, making Elmae jump. Christine smiled and held the girl tighter, letting her lean against her chest.

Things seemed normal for the first thirty minutes where the girl playing Clarisse, Erik's character for Carlotta, was singing one of the arias from Hanibal, everyone dressed in extravagant clothing. As the show continued on, Erik's back got more and more stiff, and his grip on Christine's hand got tighter.

"What is it, Erik? You're hurting my hand."

He nodded to Sandrine, who was entering the theatre, singing the aria in her white dress. "We fixed this," he said darkly, his eyes flashing with anger. "She shouldn't be singing this. Where is Isabelle?"

Christine looked to the Phantom, her eyes full of worry. "They said she allowed Sandrine to take the role."

"Only in wildest dreams, Christine." As he said this, he wasn't her kind and caring Erik anymore. He was the Opera Ghost. Christine could see it in his eyes.

Then, right before her, Erik disappeared, a billow of his cape blinding her momentarily. She searched around with her eyes, seeing him sulking on the landing that was used to light the chandelier. Sandrine, who was letting notes fly out of her mouth, was reaching the end of the aria and was about to sing the high note when she was interrupted.

"Did I not instruct... That Sandrine was to be kept silent!" The Phantom's voice boomed through the theatre, earning shrill and petrified gasps from the audience members as well as those on stage. Sandrine even fell to her knees, holding her head on her arms as she became a small ball.

People in the audience instantly started to scamper away, fans and papers scattered about the floor. Isabelle and Marie stood near the back of the stage, holding each other for comfort as Erik whipped his cape once again and disappeared. Things went silent and everyone searched around, looking for him. Only for a moment did he show himself next to Sandrine, his face a flash before her eyes, and she shrieked, cowering into her dress skirt.

"What is happening?" Monsieur LeBlanc shouted, running onto the stage with Monsieur DeSaulniers and Etienne following close behind. Etienne instantly went to Sandrine, holding her close. "What is this?"

"You cease to follow my orders!" Erik boomed, his voice coming from what seemed to be nowhre. Christine and Elmae ran from Box Five and onto the stage, where they waited near the 'Phantom's Mirror.'

Monsieur DeSaulniers looked around at the voice from nowhere. "We have no recollection of allowing Sandrine to play the role of Jacqueline Monet, Monseiur," he said, trying to sound civil through his lie.

"That's not true." Everyone looked to Isabelle. "They told her..." She pointed to Sandrine. "...They told her to be Jacqueline. But they said not to tell anyone, most importantly Mademoiselle Christine. 'Keep it silent, everyone,' they said. It's all a lie."

Sandrine sobbed louder, shaking in Etienne's arms when the Phantom started to speak again. "I said that if you were to not follow my oders, there would be hell to pay, and I assure you, now... There will be."

Then all was silent. People were frozen in shock, afraid to move even one muscle. Christine walked further onto the stage and Sandrine looked up, her eyes red from her tears. "You!" she hissed, scrambling to her feet and marching toward Christine. "You did this!"

Christine clenched her hands, her fan folding shut as she did. "I did nothing, Sandrine. You did this to yourself." The distraught blonde looked at her, confused. "You fill your head with lies, that you are the only one fit for all main roles, that no one else is as good as you believe yourself to be. You even went as far as to take a part away from someone who is better fit for it only because you must always have center stage. You're a spoiled girl, Sandrine. You're selfish."

Sandrine's face changed from one of heartbreak to completely furious. She stood there for a moment, staring at Christine, before lunging toward her, a look of anger in her eyes. Instantly, three men ran and held her back, holding her tightly away from Christine, who took a step toward the fuming girl.

"You don't know anything outside your own mind, Sandrine. You're naive and you need to learn otherwise. If I hear so much as a whisper about you doing something cruel again, mark my words, you will never see the inside of the Opera Populaire again."

Christine started to walk away, but stopped when Sandrine said, "Everyone knows you don't have the real power. The Opera Ghost only lets you stay because you're in his bed chambers every night."

The brunette turned and slapped her hand across Sandrine's face, creating a red mark on the girl's cheek. "Watch out for yourself, Sandrine," she said, pointing her fan in the blonde's face. Then, taking Elmae's hand in her own, she marched out of the theatre, down the darkened corridors and through Box Five to their underground home.

Erik was pacing back and forth in front of the organ, his hands gathered behind his back. His mask was still resting on his face, a crease in his forehead that got deeper and deeper every time he faced Christine. She let go of the little girl's hand, seeing her scamper off to Patapouf and cuddle him close. As she started to play with him, Christine walked over to Erik, holding his arms tightly as she made him stop in his place.

"What is wrong?" she said quietly, touching his unscarred cheek softly. Erik turned his face into her palm and placed his hand over hers. "Erik?"

He sighed. "Christine, this should not be happening."

She took a step close to him, looking at him with sad eyes. "It's over now, Erik. Sandrine knows the punishment now, and all has been-"

"No, Christine. Not that." She made a confused face. "They should not be here. Two years, I was in solitary, alone and undisturbed. You then bring the light and joy back into my isolation, yet, that has all been shattered now."

"It's been fixed, Erik. It's finished."

He wrenched away from her and began pacing again. "No, Christine, don't you see? It's all happening again."

She held her arms around herself. "What do you mean, Erik?" she said quietly, looking at the floor.

"Isabelle is you, Christine." The young woman froze, looking up at her angel. Then, Erik took a step toward her and held her in his arms. "I didn't give you your stage once. I can't do that again."

Tears sprung to her eyes and she hugged Erik tightly, burying her face in his chest. "You are a caring one," she said, reaching up to pull the mask off his face. She let it fall to the ground and the two of them stood by the lagoon, looking deeply into each others eyes. "You should not hide from the world, for your beauty is inside you and you should show that to all."

Then, there was the sound of water splashing against the rock walls. Turning toward the entrance of the lair, Erik and Christine saw Isabelle limping toward the gate. The young girl froze when she saw the Phantom's unmasked face, her hands gripping the metal bars separating them. Erik suddenly cowered away, his cape billowing out as Christine scrambled for the lever to open the gate.

When it was open, Isabelle stumbled in, limping on her right leg. She reached the middle of the lake, where Erik's white mask had been resting for days. When she saw Erik's face, the scars and scorn skin, she slipped, her body tumbling into the water.

"Isabelle!" Christine said, trying to run to the girl, but was stopped by Erik.

Slowly, the young girl rose, her hand being lifted form the water. Her small fingers were curled around the Phantom's white mask. Clasping her other hand around it, Isabelle looked form the mask to Erik, an astonished look on her face. "I did not think it was true," she said, her voice a whisper. "The rumors I've heard... Things people have said, I didn't know they were as they say."

Christine protectively wrapped her arms around Erik's torso. "He isn't." Isabelle's eyes stopped on Erik, who had turned his face away from her. "He's wonderful, and kind, and more loving than any man," she said, touching his face softly before looking back to Isabelle.

She looked down at the mask shamefully. "I heard from others that his face was like a monster, twisted to all hideousness. His eyes burned red like fire and one look at him would haunt you for the rest of your days."

"Does this look like a face that haunts?" Erik said, slowly turning to Isabelle. "Are my eyes red as fire, or my face twisted to the pinnacle of all things that are not beautiful?" The girl's chin began to tremble. "Here, you've seen my face and does it haunt? Do you quake with fear?"

Isabelle walked toward them. "I do not quake with fear, nor does it haunt. Though scarred and hidden from the eyes of others, I see nothing that is to be feared." The couple looked at her. "Rumors is all they were, Monsieur, and I see nothing wrong."

Christine helped her out of the water and stroked her cheek softly. "Is that what you see, or what you wish to believe?"

"It's what I see and what I know I believe," the young girl said, holding the mask to her chest tightly. She took a step closer to them, but a sharp pain traveled through her leg and she cried out, falling to the ground.

Erik caught her and helped her stand. "What's wrong, Isabelle," Christine said, taking the girl's hand.

"My ankle," she said, leaning onto Erik for support. "It's in pain."

Christine wrapped her arm around Isabelle's waist. "Come, to a chair, and we'll see what's wrong."

**Really bad ending, sure, but think of it this way, now they have a reason to keep her down there and tell her Erik and Christine's story the right way. :) Review. I miss you guys.**


	20. Readapt

** Holy craps… Long time. SORRY, seriously. I think it's been, like, six months. Which is a long time. :( Anyway, ON WITH THE STORY! **

Chapter Twenty: Readapt

When Isabelle woke the next morning, she found herself on a bed made of blankets, soft and thick, on a floor made of stone. She was in a strange place she didn't recognize, a lagoon at the entrance, the water shimmering from the thousands of flickering candles. Candelabras surrounded her, as well as melted pools of wax on the floor that were still aglow.

She stood slowly, falling into a limp from the twisted pain in her ankle. Isabelle spotted her dress on a near-by chair, spread out to dry and she looked down at herself frantically, relieved to see a white night dress draped across her body.

It seemed like she was in a cave, but there were mirrors all around, a room with a bed, an organ, and furniture, desks and tables and cabinets. Moving to an area that had a table covered in papers, Isabelle's eyes grazed the papers in front of her. In the center, there was a small stage, with small figurines on it, wearing costumes from the show only the night before. Next to the small stage, shadow-casted by the candles, was a white mask, seeming to stare at her. Reaching for it, Isabelle picked up the mask and held it at eye level.

Suddenly, flashes of the previous evening flew through her mind—walking through the water, falling and finding this very mask, then seeing the Phantom's face, red and scarred.

With the mask still in her hands, Isabelle began to look around the lair, her fingers gliding over papers that were marked with music and words, some with pictures drawn in coal. Shuffling through them, she found one of a woman with her bare back to the artist, a light blanket wrapped around her lower body. She was sitting at the edge of the lagoon, her feet dangling in the water. The woman's hands were holding her hair up at the top of her head, a few loose curls around her face as she looked over her shoulder at the artist. Looking closer, Isabelle saw that the woman was Christine and she gasped.

"My goodness," she breathed out.

"Is something the matter?" Startled, Isabelle dropped the picture and turned around. Erik was standing in front of her, his hands behind held innocently behind his back.

She looked down shamefully. "I'm sorry, I thought I was alone."

He shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Not in this opera house." Isabelle laughed once. "Are you looking at my drawings?" She nodded. "Which?"

Isabelle reached behind her and pulled the drawing off the table. "This one, of Mademoiselle Christine."

"Ah," he said, taking the drawing from her. "Mademoiselle Christine…"

Isabelle looked form the Phantom to the picture, then back to him. "Was this drawn from life?" she asked quietly, her hair falling slightly from her braid.

Erik nodded. "Yes, my girl. But, she must always be drawn from behind, never the front. I never draw such things as that." Isabelle's cheeks became red and she looked down to hide the color. "Come," he said, breaking the silence between them. "Christine has set up a breakfast for us."

With a hand on her back, Erik lead Isabelle away, through a doorway near the bed that had been made up for her. It had dark walls, but at the end, she could see a faint light and when they reached it, Erik's hand was removed from her back.

"Go down the corridor, then, when you come to the forth door on your left, go inside."

Isabelle nodded and stepped from the dark hall, entering the small area near the girl's sleeping rooms. The smell of breakfast foods slew into her nose, and she followed the smell until she forth door. Knocking quietly, Isabelle waited politely for Christine to open the door.

"Come inside," she said, waving Isabelle into the small eating room. "I've prepared some food for you."

The young girl sat at the table and allowed Christine to serve her freshly bakes biscuits with butter and fruit.

"Thank you," she said, daintily taking a bit from the biscuit after she had placed sliced strawberries on it. While the two of them ate, they were silent, looking at each other every other minute to smile. Suddenly, Isabelle sat up even straighter. "What is the time?"

"Near afternoon," Christine responded, slightly confused.

Isabelle put her biscuit down. "I must go. They will be expecting me in the theatre."

Christine put a hand warmly on Isabelle's. "Erik and I have decided that you will rest from them for a few days. Sandrine and you both need to rest and collect your thoughts. The two of you need some space from each other, don't you think?"

Slowly, Isabelle sat back down, folding her hands in her lap. "I feel so ashamed."

"Why, love?'

I've been acting so selfish about the role. I should have just let Sandrine take the part. Then none of this would have happened."

Christine inched closer to Isabelle in her chair and held the young girl's hands tightly in her own. "None of this is your fault, Isabelle. You were doing as you were told and following your dreams. Sandrine, as well as those terrible men, were only doing what they wanted for that woman. They were not thinking about you." Isabelle tried to argue, but Christine gave her a soft look and she grew silent. "Believe me when I say, it is heartbreaking to be refused the thing you always dream for, but you have to put your faith in the angel and good things will happen."

Isabelle nodded.

Christine smiled. "I promise."

As Christine and Isabelle finished their breakfast, the two of them walked slowly to Box 5, where they began to watch the rehearsal that was going on without the young girl. Elmae was playing on the floor, trying to teach her china doll to speak English and Christine looked at the little girl who was sitting on the floor, unaware of all the complicated things that were going on around her. She had her own world and Christine envied the young girl for that.

Below them on the stage, the full cast of the show last night was standing around the managers, Monsieur LeBlanc and Monsieur DeSaulniers. "Madames et messieurs, as last night's show did not go as planned, thanks to that woman and her Phantom, Monsieur LeBlanc and I have decided that we are going to continue with our production of Don Juan Triumphant."

"Will the rolls be changed?" Sandrine, who had gone back to her original attitude, called out in a rude voice. "If that little brat gets in the way of my success, I will leave!"

The two men laughed. "No need for that, Mademoiselle," Monsieur LeBlanc said, holding his hand up. "Everything will stay as is and we will continue where we left off before The Phantom came in with his wreck of a show." Isabelle looked at Christine, who was staring straight ahead at what was happening on the stage. "We have also made the decision that Isabelle will not be taking part in this production. She has caused too much trouble already."

The young woman was about to jump from her seat, but, as if Christine knew this, she put her hand on Isabelle's arm to keep her where she was. "They can't do this," she said in a hushed voice. "And they know they can't."

"Stay quiet. Let them say what they have to say."

With burning tears in her eyes, Isabelle nodded and looked back to the stage. "She will be helping sew the costumes with Amelia and Lucienne." Her hands clenched into fists and looked over to Christine, but the woman was gone. She looked around her, yet saw her nowhere. Elmae was still sitting on the floor, teaching her doll to speak English as Isabelle stayed where she was, staring coldly at the people gathered on the stage. "She is to be left alone. Unless you need to speak about a costume to her, she is not to be spoken to, understood?"

While other's nodded, and Sandrine smiled slyly, Matthew and Henri exchanged glances. "Excuse me, messieurs, I mean no disrespect to either of you," Matthew said, stepping from the crowd, "but nothing that happened in this opera house concerning The Phantom happened because Isabelle was doing harm."

They looked at him. "Oh? Then who's was it?"

"It was Sandrine's," Henri added in, standing next to Matthew.

"If Sandrine hadn't been so concerned with herself being the main role, then the Phantom would not have gotten enraged, and therefore, none of the intruding on last night's opera would have happened. But, it did, because she was being selfish."

There was an offended gasp from behind them and Sandrine stormed over to the two men who were fighting against her, standing in front of them. "If your little lover had never taken the part from me in the beginning-"

"If you had just accepted that you weren't the one who was perfect for the role of Jacqueline," Matthew interrupted, standing over her as he shouted. "I agree with what Madame Christine said last night, Sandrine. You are selfish and you need to learn that there are others that are better than you are otherwise your life will be a constant fight against who is perfect and _yourself_."

She gaped at him. "I am perfect for everything!"

"Yet, in the beginning, The Phantom gave Isabelle the roll and not you, because Isabelle was better suited for it."

"That's enough," Etienne said in a hard voice, going to Sandrine and placing his hands on her shoulders. "It is disrespectful to speak to a woman in such ways."

Henri laughed once. "If she were acting as such. My five year daughter behaves better than this childish creature before me."

A few people in the crowd behind them laughed quietly while Sandrine, her face red in anger, reached her hand up to slap it across Henri's face. Just as she was about to, he caught her arm. "Further proves my statement. Elmae would do the same thing, except she did so when she was at the age of three."

More laughs from the cast on stage before the two men turned and left, heading for the opera lounge and Isabelle watched this whole thing, smiling when the two men had defended her, and insulted Sandrine at the same time.

Elmae looked up at Isabelle. "Papa," she said, getting up and walking out of the box to go find her father.

Isabelle followed quickly after her.

Christine had just left Box 5 and was hurrying down the corridor, not even needing a light since she had been down the hallway so many times before. She could hear music filling her ears as she got closer and closer to her home, and soon, she broke out into light, a flushed look on her face.

"Erik!" she said, running to his side. "Something's happened."

He stopped his music and looked at her, his face suddenly filled with worry when he saw her panicked look. "What? What is going on?"

"It's Isabelle… They are continuing their production of Don Juan Triumphant. But, they have taken Isabelle out of the show because she has apparently caused too much trouble already."

"They've what?" he said, standing up from his bench. "They're taking her out of the opera? They can't do that. It's my piece. And it's your opera house." He started toward the mirror. "I'll go out there right now and tell them to get out of the Opera Populaire and never come back."

Christine gasped, running after him and grabbing his arm before he entered the corridor. "You can't do that. They will just blame it on Isabelle, and that will make matters worse."

He turned to her, his face flustered. "Then what is it you suggest we do, Christine? How are we to make things better for Isabelle? They are destroying her." Christine frowned, tangling her fingers into his. "Isabelle, she's so innocent, and they're taking her down like she's turned the entire world upside down. All she wants is to be noticed. She's a beautiful girl with a beautiful voice, but they are doing nothing to let her show that. And when _I _give her the chance, they rip it away from her."

Christine nodded, a twisting feeling flashing through her stomach. "I know, just like they did with me, but, Erik, we can't keep telling them to put Isabelle back in the spotlight. That will only mean more if Sandrine trying to push her back out… So what are we to do?"

Erik let out a rough breath. "We are to do exactly what I said I would. If they did not put Isabelle back in the place of Jacqueline, there would be hell to pay." Christine pushed her brow together in worry. "And so there will be."

** Yeah. I'm running low on awesome chapters, I know. But, I'm trying. I'm really lacking inspiration to write something amazing for y'all. I'm doing the best I can, though. Please review. And tell me your ideas. Some of you are bound to have ideas. Share them with me. Let me know! I'm seriously asking for your opinion. I'm not just trying to be nice. :) Come on! Show me the love! **


	21. Rejected

**It's been wicked hard trying to write these chapters. Seriously. I'm nearly killing myself with the words. But, hopefully, you guys like them! :) **

Chapter Twenty-One: Rejected

"Isabelle?" a voice called to the young girl as she sat behind stage, wearing her regular day clothes as she worked aimlessly on a needle point. That morning, the clothes had felt heavy as she put on her underskirts and top skirt, as well as a white blouse with a fabric vest over it that had belonged to her mother. She had always been so used to putting on her ballet clothes and it felt almost unnatural to her to wear the skirt and top.

When her name was called, she looked up slowly, seeing an older woman who seemed looked to be thirty-five. "Come with me, dear."

The woman, Amelia, was American who worked at the Opera Populaire while her husband, who had brought her here after they married, worked in the merchant shop a few streets away. The two women walked silently down farther back stage until they came to a set of spiral stairs, which they climbed before walking to a very large room that smelled of vinegar and soap.

"This is where you will be working, with Lucienne and I," she said, letting Isabelle look around the room for a moment. "This is where we wash the costumes," Amelia said as she lead Isabelle to three large metal wash bins. "Soak them in here-" She placed her hand on the edge of one that had murky gray water "-Wash them in here-" She pointed to one that had bubbles gathering on the top while the water beneath it jumped and boiled "-And cool them in here-" Another gray watered basin "-Before you wring out the water and set them up on the line."

Isabelle noticed a stepping stool that was below four think strings running from one end of the room to the other. "This is the soap and this… Smells absolutely awful…" Isabelle laughed quietly, covering her mouth with her hand. "But, it gets out any stains in the fabric of the costumes."

Isabelle noticed two wooden basins not far from the wash bins with wooden buckets around them and old looking cans that had different colors stained on the sides. "What are those?" she asked quietly, pointing to the corner.

"Ah, those. That's where we die the fabrics. The cans you see there are the different colors. You've got to be careful with them. They stain very easily and are very difficult to get out," Amelia said, waving her to the other end of the room. "Here is where we make and fix the dresses. Everything is very simple here, as you can see, but you've got to watch where you put your needles. We've lost quite a few, finding them only when we prick ourselves on them later."

Isabelle nodded, looking around the room again sadly. "I see."

Amelia looked at the young girl for a moment before she reached out and put her hand on her arm. "It isn't that bad working here. I know it's nothing compared to being on that stage, but you'll learn to warm up to it. I assure you."

Amelia handed her a white apron and Isabelle tied it around her waist. "I'm sure that I will, I just wish I could be down there," she said, looking longingly at the door as she pulled to knot tight. She looked at Amelia. "None of what happened, happened because of me," Isabelle said, sitting down on a chair that was nearby. "It was all Sandrine's doing."

"Sandrine?" another voice said as woman with fire red hair appeared in the room. "I cannot stand that woman." Isabelle looked curiously at the woman. "I'm Lucienne."

"Nice to meet you," she said, smiling at the woman who had started to put her hair into a braid before gathering it up into a clump and tying a white kerchief around her head to keep it up. "My name is Isabelle."

The three women looked at each other for a moment. "We best get to work. If we don't, one of the messieurs will come up here and it'll be to the streets," Amelia said in a mocking voice before she and Lucienne laughed together, going over to where they sewed the dresses, standing next to two mannequins. "Come here, Isabelle and I'll show you what to do." With a nod, Isabelle walked over to the blonde woman, taking the needle and thread she was holding out. "Before you start, you may want to tie your hair back. You may not think it does, but it can get rather warm in here," she said, walking behind Isabelle and gathering her hair back and up, settling her hair in a piece of white fabric before bringing it up and tying the two ends at the top of Isabelle's head, like Lucienne had done with her own hair.

"Now… This is _Sandrine's _dress." Isabelle let out a sigh. "At the moment, we are working on the corset. What you need to do is sew this lace along the top, you see?" Amelia said, running her finger along the top where a bit of plain white fabric was sitting.

"It has to go around the entire top and can't be too long, or too short, otherwise she will rip it off and demand you do it again."

"How like her," Isabelle said, starting on the first button.

Lucienne looked up from where she was sitting on a chair, the end of the skirt in her lap as she hemmed it to the right length. "Isabelle, that isn't even the worst she has done."

Slowly, Isabelle looked down at her with a shocked face. "What else is there?"

"And then she knocked over the basin that had the blue dye water and it spread throughout the whole room, ruining half the costumes," Lucienne said, cutting a piece of sparkled gold fabric to put over the skirt to Sandrine's costume.

It was nearing the end of the day and the entire time, Amelia and Lucienne had talked about all the things Sandrine had done when something on her costume wasn't right or if she needed her costume fixed because _she _had ruined it. Isabelle had listened closely, laughing at appropriate times or frowning when Sandrine had done something truly awful.

When things below them on stage had quieted, Lucienne and Amelia let Isabelle go, smiling and saying they looked forward to working with her the next morning as the young girl folded her apron on a chair and walked out. Isabelle dashed down the spiral stairs and was about to go to the girl's dorms while Sandrine appeared in front of her wearing an elegant evening dress.

"Oh, it's the Little Phantom Girl," she said in a snide voice, smirking at Isabelle. "Free from working on the costumes, are you?" Isabelle kept a straight face, just looking at the blonde woman in front of her. "It's such a shame you have to work up there, Little Phantom Girl. I was waiting all day for you to humiliate yourself, but I was upset when I remembered that you were upstairs sewing my costume."

With a laugh, Sandrine started walking away as her dress billowed out around her. Glaring at the women, Isabelle put her foot out and stomped down hard on the skirt, creating a large hole as she caused it to rip. Sandrine stopped short, her mouth hanging open but when she turned around, Isabelle was gone.

She was running as fast as she could, her skirt bunched up in her hand. She ran around a corner and felt someone catch her arm, making her stop in her tracks. Isabelle shrieked, but calmed herself when she saw Matthew standing there, smiling.

"You startled me," Isabelle said, her hand on her chest as her heart beat slowed.

Matthew stepped toward her, pushing her hair out of her eyes before pulling the kerchief off her head. Her dark locks fell around her shoulders and Matthew looked at her with loving eyes. "Deepest apologies, my love," he whispered, stepping close to her as he softly twisted his fingers into her hair. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Isabelle smiled as Matthew pressed his lips to hers, holding Isabelle tightly to his body as they stepped into the shadows. They stood there quietly, their lips moving softly with each others before Matthew pulled away. "Henri has invited us to his home for supper," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "I thought it would be a lovely idea. You need some cheering up, amore."

Isabelle nodded and smiled, reaching her hands up to cup Matthew's jaw in her palms. "That's a wonderful idea."

"_Bon_. _On allez, ma belle._"  
~*~

"Erik, this is childish," Christine said as she stood over him, watching as he carefully wrote out a note on a piece of stiff parchment paper.

Without a word, Erik poured salt onto the paper before letting the little grains fall off as he folded the letter into thirds. He poured wax over the edge and stamped it, creating the deadly skull that Christine recognized too well. "This is not childish. What's childish is the fact that those impertinent men don't realize what talent Isabelle has. With Sandrine, the seats are full, yes, but with Isabelle, they would have to do more than one performance because so many people would want to hear her. But, there hasn't been a chance of that because Sandrine, once again, took her opportunity away from the girl. And if they refuse to listen to me, then they deserve what is coming to them."

Christine let out a heavy sigh and walked away from him, going to their bedroom. She stopped by the bookshelf Erik had pressed against the wall and pulled a book off the shelf, looking at it for a moment. It was a play, one that she had listened to her father read to her before he died. With a smile, she took it to their bed, where she settled herself comfortably before she opened the book and began to read.

She didn't get far, though, before Erik appeared in the room, his envelope in hand. "Would you mind delivering this to the messieurs?" he said, holding it out to her.

Christine put her book down and folded her hand in her lap, giving Erik a very annoyed look. "I would mind very much, Erik," she said, standing up in front of him. "Erik, this isn't necessary, really."

"Yes, it very much is." She looked at him with an amused and expectant face. "They cannot do this to Isabelle. The poor girl has done nothing, honestly nothing and they are punishing her like everything is her fault. In my production, and your opera house, that will not pass in any way at all."

"Erik…" He gave her a very sad look and she sighed, bringing her hand up to his face. "Alright," she said, taking the letter from him. "I will leave it in their office. The rehearsal has to have ended by now. They surely went home."

With a nod and a smile from Erik, Christine left the lair and retreated down the corridor that she had come to know so well before taking a sudden turn down a secret passage way, instead of continuing down the dark hall to Box 5. She walked a few paces, and then stopped, her hand reaching out until it connected with a flat piece of wood. Cautiously, she pushed against it and let a faint light into the dark hall as she appeared from behind a large painting that was hanging in the office of Monsieur LeBlanc. She was a few feet above his desk, where the painting was acting as a door and so she leaned over the wall that was at her waist and dropped the letter on his desk.

"I simply cannot stand that woman," a voice from behind the office door said, and Christine panicked, scrambling to pull the painting back against the wall. She slowly let it close as she listened closely to the conversation.

"Which woman?" another voice said, and Christine recognized it as Monsieur DeSaulniers.

The other man, who Christine could only assume was Monsieur LeBlanc, scoffed. "That Daae woman." Christine scoffed silently. "She pretends as though she owns this opera and then, while we are the ones running the productions, she tries to take control and tell us who should and should not be allowed to be in those productions."

Monsieur LeBlanc was silent for a moment. "Well, she did not appear anywhere today, but-"

"Last night, after the retched Phantom completely ruined our show, _Mademoiselle Christine _came and scolded nearly the entire cast. She even hit Sandrine Faraday." The two men were silent, before Monsieur LeBlanc spoke again. "Look, another letter."

There was the sound of paper ripping before he read, "'Dearest Messieurs, I will give you an offer, but know that it stands for only one day. What was said last night from both Madame Christine and I will be forgotten forever, if, and only if, you put Isabelle Poirier back into the place Sandrine currently has. If you fail to do so by the evening tomorrow, there _will _be hell to pay in Madame Christine's opera house. O.G.'" Both of the men scoffed.

"This is just ridiculous," Monsieur DeSaulniers said, sounding aggravated. Christine scoffed silently again, placing her hands on her hips. "They think they can run us."

Monsieur LeBlanc ripped up the letter. "There is nothing they can do to hurt us. We simply won't listen."

"And so it begins," Christine whispered before retreating back to the lair to tell Erik that he can begin his plan.

**You like? I hope you like. I was actually kind of proud of this chapter, and I'll be updating more, if I can. Love you guys! REVIEW LIKE YOUR LIFE DEPENDS ON IT! :) **


	22. Reckless

**Where have I gone is quite a good question. Where have YOU GUYS gone, though, is an even better one. Seriously, guys, I worked really hard on the last chapter, and I got almost nothing from you people. I was thinking about ending this story because I'm not getting a lot from you guys. That's why I haven't updated in a while, but then I changed my mind, hoping that you guys would pull through, so here is another chapter of POTO, hope you like it, and review, because I feel unloved! **

Chapter Twenty- Two: Reckless

Isabelle and Christine sat in the upper room of the theatre, the ex-ballerina unhappily sewing the hem to Sandrine's dress while Christine read one of Erik's old plays. "Isabelle, what are you doing for Christmas?" Christine asked, looking up from her page to let her eyes land on the young girl.

She looked up from her job. "I haven't any idea. Matthew is leaving to see his parents in the north part of France and all of my family is either gone or too far away to see," she said sadly, roughly snipping the string. "I suppose I will celebrate with the other ballerinas."

Christine frowned. "You should come celebrate with The Phantom and myself tonight. We are going to Henri Campbell's house with his little girl." Isabelle's eyes lit up. "I'm sure it would be no trouble to have one more person," she said, softly stroking Isabelle's cheek once. "We would love to have your company. What do you think?"

"I would absolutely love it, but, I don't have a proper dress," she said sadly, continuing to sew the dress.

"I'm sure I could lend you something, Isabelle. You must be very close to my size."

Suddenly, Isabelle was very happy and she turned to Christine. "Oh, it will be so wonderful! I hardly get out of this place! I would love to be able to spend time with friends and not have to worry about such hurtful things, like Sandrine! Christine, I'm so-"

She wasn't able to finish her sentence before Monsieur DeSaulniers walked into the room with a very sour look on his face. Sandrine was following close behind. "Isabelle! You clumsy girl! Sandrine's costume has ripped at the seams due to your lack of attention on her dress!"

Isabelle shrunk back into the wall and held her arms around her protectively. "I'm sorry, Monsieur, I didn't mean to. I will fix the dress."

"It cannot be fixed!" Sandrine shrieked, shoving the dress into Isabelle's hands. "It is too ruined. You have to start all over again on a new dress, because I will not be wearing a dress that has been ruined!"

"Watch your tone, Sandrine," Christine said slyly from her place in the corner.

Monsieur DeSaulniers' eyes flashed to the woman and his face flushed the most ridiculous shade of red. "Madame Christine, what on earth are you doing up here!" he shouted, angrily walking toward the woman who was sitting on an over turned bucket. "This place is for workers only!"

"It seems to have slipped your mind, Monsieur, that this is my opera house and I will go wherever I please," she said in a snide voice, standing up on the bucket to look down at the man. "If you ever talk to this little girl that way again," she said, growing loud, "I will personally see to it that you, Sandrine, never set foot on the Opera Populaire stage again, do you understand me!"

It wasn't so much a question than it was an order. Sandrine just scoffed and threw the ruined dress she had given to Isabelle into a tub of red die before storming out of the room with the Monsieur following close behind. Isabelle sunk to the floor with a sob. Christine instantly rushed over to her and wrapped her arms around her comfortingly.

"Pay no mind to that woman and her reckless behavior," Christine said, stroking Isabelle's hair softly. "She is just jealous of you and is too spoiled to see past the tip of her nose. You, Isabelle, you are much more than that." Isabelle tried to hide the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. "Come," she said, helping the girl stand. "We'll go see the Phantom. He'll know what do to."

The two of them scurried down the set off stairs that was at the other end of the room; a secret set of stairs that Amelia and Lucienne used to sneak away from work but instead of heading to the lounge, where the two women would usually go, Isabelle and Christine took a different turn and found themselves rushing down a corridor with candles hanging from the ceiling. Their long skirts were gathered up in their arms as they ran, breaking into a brighter light when they reached the lair. It was mostly silent, but they could hear soft piano music that was playing from an old phonographic player. Christine walked over to where Erik was sitting at his desk, pen in hand and a blank piece of paper before him.

"Can't write?" she asked, placing her hands on his shoulders.

"I've lost my muse." Christine smiled and kissed the back of his neck. "Or, maybe not," he said, turning around to face the two women. "Hello, mademoiselles. To what do I owe the honor?"

Christine sat down in an arm chair close to the Phantom's desk, Isabelle sitting down into one next to her. "She is having trouble again, Erik. With Sandrine. Things seem to be getting worse with that woman," Christine said, taking Isabelle's hand once and giving it a squeeze. "She is becoming so terrible that she is ruining her costumes to Isabelle will have to start all over again. We need your help, my love."

Erik nodded once. "That shouldn't be a problem. You just leave everything to me and don't go worrying yourself sick, Isabelle. Everything will turn out alright, you'll see." The young girl gave him a small smile, but kept her eyes on the ground. "Now... Why don't you two hurry and get dressed. We'll be going to Henri's soon."

The two women stood up. "Well, that is a good idea. Come with me, Isabelle. I have just the dress for you." Isabelle followed Christine to the room where the bed sat and she pulled out a red dress with gold leaves embroidered into the delicate fabric. "Here you are. This should fit."

Isabelle took the dress and looked at it for a very long time. "This dress looks very familiar," she said, running her hands over the fabric. "Too familiar."

"That's because it is, dear." The young girl frowned. "Well, since the messieurs and most of the cast were being so awful," she said, pulling out a blue and black dress that also looked familiar to Isabelle "I thought that they wouldn't mind if I borrowed a few dresses that I do not intend to return."

Isabelle looked at Christine for a moment with a shocked expression, but when the woman simple lifted her shoulders once and left the fall carelessly, she began to laugh and change into a dress that she had always thought was too fancy for her to wear. The way the fabric hung around her legs and the way the corset hugged the curves of her upper body, she felt like royalty. With Christine in her soft blue dress, she did Isabelle's hair in a bun with beautiful gem hairpins that Christine said she had also borrowed when she had done her first solo performance, the one that Isabelle was supposed to have done as well. When they were finished, they walked out of the bedroom, where Erik was waiting in a suit.

"Ah," he said when they stood in front of him. "Tres belle, mademoiselles."

Erik kissed each of their cheeks before they settled themselves in the boat. The gate to the lair opened and he pushed them all through to the set of stairs that lead to what used to be Christine and Isabelle's changing room, but instead of heading down the corridor that lead to the secret door, he lead them in a different direction down a hall that Christine had never known existed. It lead them to the back of the Opera Populaire house, where a horse drawn carriage was waiting. Erik helped them in before twirling a cloak around his shoulders and covering his face as be climbed up onto the front of the carriage. He took the reigns, yelling, 'Hee-yah' and the horses took off toward Henri Campbell's house.  
~*~

Sandrine was singing loudly, and very off key, on stage to the opening song of _Don Juan Triumphant. _It almost pained Christine to listen to the notes screech from the woman's throat. Messieurs DeSaulniers and LeBlanc seemed to think differently. "Brava, mademoiselle, brava!" they called from their places on stage when the song ended.

"Truly, Sandrine, you have a gift," they said, walking over to the woman was they continued to applaude.

"Well, it is only the voice of an angel," she said in return, fanning herself with her hand. Christine laughed from her seat in Box 5. "I must say, though, my throat is dry. Carlotta!" she screamed, stomping off stage. "My spray, please!"

The dreadful woman, who had stayed behind after the horrid incident concerning Isabelle and Sandrine, picked up a dainty pink bottle and spritzed a liquid into her niece's open mouth. "There, amore, you should-a be ready to sing-a as beautifully as-a me now," she said, giving Sandrine a frighteningly wide smile before setting the bottle down.

That was when Christine flew from Box 5 and ran back stage. Carlotta was busy watching Sandrine sing those deafening notes again and as few as she knew, no one else was watching as she picked up the delicate bottle and replaced it with an identical one that held a poison that Carlotta could recognize if she sprayed it into her mouth and started to sing. Fortunately for Christine, Sandrine wouldn't be able to recognize it even if she had told what it was, so as she replaced the bottle, she smiled to herself and ran back to the box.

Elmae was waiting for her with her new doll hanging in her hand. "Hello, darling," Christine said, picking up the girl and balancing her on her hip. "What brings you up here all by yourself?"

"Phantom," she said, struggling with the word since her ability to speak English was still being formed.

"The Phantom is looking for me?" Elmae nodded. "Well, then, let's not waste a single moment," Christine said, fleeing from her place and down a dark corridor that was hidden by a very large painting.

They reached the lair within seconds and Christine allowed the little girl to run off to her play space before walking to Erik. "What is it, my love?"

"Did you replace the bottles?" he said without looking at her from his spot at the piano. Christine nodded, but said nothing. "Wonderful," he laughed, pulling Christine down until she was sitting next to him. "Thank you very much for doing my evil deed."

Christine smiled. "Anything for you, my Phantom."

**Review? I know this chapter has taken too long to write and I'm sorry, but, here it is. The dresses will be on my website later! :) **


	23. Redefine

**Fuck, it's been a long time. I apologize for my profanity. I thought it was necessary. I hope all of you are still out there! :) Story's about to pick up! **

Christmas morning, Elmae woke up shivering because the fire that had been roaring the night before was now simply a pile of ash. She could smell biscuits from the kitchen and she instantly pushed her blankets away from her legs and wiggled out of her small bed and pattered across the wood floor of her tiny house and entered the room filled with warmth and the smell of breakfast.

"Good morning," Christine said, wiping her hands on the apron she was wearing.

"Hello," Elmae said, the only greeting she could say in English. "J'ai faim."

"You're hungry?" The little girl nodded. "Go sit by the fire; breakfast will be ready soon."

Isabelle turned from her spot in front of the fire where she was stirring a small pot of porridge, sprinkling brown sugar into the think mixture. "Bonjour, mon petite fille. Comment ça va?"

"Bien, merci."

Elisamarie obeyed Christine's orders, sitting down on a little wooden stool by the fireplace that had a cooking stone sitting on hot coals with biscuits turning to a brown. She didn't notice, at first, the figure sitting on a chair near her until Isabelle moved away and she looked at the man warming his hands slowly. _"How are you today, love?" _

_ "Very well, thank you. I am excited for my gifts." _

Erik smiled once. _"Pere Noel was good to you this year." _

Elmae beamed at the thought of getting a lot of presents and then picked up a small, ratty doll that was leaning against the fireplace bricks, playing with the arms and legs to make her dance before Christine pulled the biscuit stone from the fire and placed it on the counter, fanning it with a cloth. Then, she placed it on a plate and Isabelle spooned the porridge into a bowl and Christine handed it to Elmae.

"Bon appetit," she said with a smile, stroking Elmae's cheek once.

As soon as the girl began eating her food, Henri came stomping into the house with logs in his hand and snow sprinkled into his hair. He walked over to the fire and gently placed the logs on the coals before turning around to kiss Elmae on the head. She smiled at him, but focused on her breakfast because she was so hungry. Henri kissed Christine and Isabelle on the cheeks as well and embraced Erik's hand for a moment before kneeling down in front of the fire and placing a few snow dusted logs onto the flames.

"Henri, did you get Elmae anything for Christmas?" Isabelle asked, putting metal cups into the wash bin with the rest of the dishes.

The man looked down at his daughter lovingly. "I was able to get a few things, but not many… A new doll and a picture maker, but that was all."

Christine noted the sadness in his voice for not being able to supply his daughter with the amount of toys that Christine was sure she would have received at Elisamarie's age. Putting down the cloth she was using to wash the dishes, she dried her hands and walked over to him.

"Don't worry. Erik and I brought gifts for the girl," she said, placing her hand on his shoulder.

"As did I," Isabelle chimed in, handing him a delicate tea cup with the warm beverage in it. "She will be well taken care of this holiday."

"Thank you for your courtesy," he said with a nod, sitting on a low stool next to Elmae, who looked at him with a hopeful look. _"It's time for your gifts, my love," _Henri smiled, laughing when the little girl jumped from her seat, her plate clanking on the floor as she rushed through the small house to where her presents sat by the fire in the sitting room.

Everyone followed after her, resting on the couches and chairs to watch her open her presents. She knows who each on is from and hugs the giver when she reveals the gifts, laughing and playing with each one before moving onto the next. When she opened the one from Erik, Elisamarie almost begins to cry with joy at the giant dollhouse with carpets and wallpaper and petite furniture that she knew Erik had made by hand.

She walked up to him and climbed into his lap, cradling his head in her arms as she whispered, "Merci, mon ange," into his ear and kissed his cheek. "Merci bien."  
~*~

Hours after their Christmas at Henri's house, Christine and the Phantom were sitting in their underground home, shoulder to shoulder in their bed as Christine read a manuscript Erik had finished moments before.

"'And he allowed himself to love her, her hair softer than the finest silk, her eyes brighter than stars in the sky, her laugh more beautiful than the chiming of Christmas bells. But, it was her love that was of angels, something he could not see or hear or touch, but he knew was there, like the wind from wings, that he allowed himself drown peacefully in for the remainder of his life. Her love was all that mattered'."

Christine put down the paper and looked at him with tears sparkling in her eyes. "Was that about me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course it was," he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb a few times before pressing his lips against hers. "I love you, Christine."

"And I you," she smiled, her fingers running through his fading blonde hair softly.

Suddenly, she looked away from him, her hand pressed to her stomach as a displeased look took over her face. "Christine? Are you alright?" Erik asked, his voice masked in concern as she jolted forward slightly. "Are you ill?"

Her hand flew to cover her mouth. "Surely, I must be," she said as she scrambled from the bed and ran into the next room, gagging into a washbasin.

"Christine!" Erik said, running to her and rubbing her back as she coughed a spit a few times. "Are you alright?"

Christine nodded once, rinsing her mouth with water and wiping her lips with a cloth. "I am alright. Don't worry about my, love. I just need some rest."

Erik nodded once. "You let me clean this up. Go, sleep," he said, helping her walk back to the bed where she began to change out of her dress and into a nightgown. "Sleep well, my love, and feel better when you wake," Erik said, pressing his lips to her forehead as she settled in the bed and her eyes began to close.

He stroked her hair a couple times, causing her to fall into a deep slumber and he pulled the cord for the black curtain to drop around her, dimming but not eliminating the light and the sounds from the lair. With a sigh, Erik went to the piano, gently playing melodies to keep Christine from waking. Lullabies flew softly from his fingers as he sang.

"_Christine, Christine… Christine."_

From through the mirror that had the red curtain hanging over it, a figure crept into the lair and stood close to the shadows. They watched the Phantom play the piano, singing Christine's name over and over again to himself. Soon, the person found themselves opening their mouth to sing.

"_Where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you are perfect. I only wish I knew your secret. Who is your great tutor?" _

The piano music stopped. Erik turned around and looked into the shadows. "Who is there?"

Meg stepped from her hiding spot and into the warm light from the candles flickering around the lair. "Don't worry," she said quietly, her fingers fiddling with the decoration on her long, billowing skirt. "It is only me…"

Erik's shoulder relaxed when he looked at the young woman standing near him, her hair piled up on top of her head in an intricately braided hairstyle that her mother must have been responsible for. "Meg," he said in a shocked and relieved voice, surprised that she had appeared in their home. "Why are you here?"

Meg's hands reached up to twirl the end of her braid around on her fingers. "I wanted to visit with you and Christine… Wish you a wonderful holiday, but it seems you're alone."

Erik shook his head. "Christine isn't feeling well. She is asleep in the bedroom." Meg nodded once and began to turn to exit the home when he said, "You may stay, if you wish, until she wakes up. I know she organized a gift for you."

The blonde smiled and stepped further into the room, standing next to the piano, where she let her fingers delicately touch the keys, a soft melody pinging from the strings. _"Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant me to your glory. Angel of music, hide no longer, secret and strange angel." _

Erik's hands played the lower notes and his voice matched the tone of the music. "_I am you angel of music. Come to the angel of music…" _

Meg looked at him with curious eyes. "May I ask you something?" she said, taking a cautious step toward him. He nodded once. "Why did you let her go… When you loved her so much?"

"She chose me to save him. Her love wasn't true, it was only a lie to save her beloved."

"But, why her? Why not someone else?"

Erik's fingers rested on the keys, but they played no music. "When I became her mentor, I thought it was because she was the only one who would love me."

Meg shook her head. "You were wrong…" Erik turned to face her completely as Meg reached into a drawstring bag she had brought with her and pulled out a while mask that Erik knew had gone missing years ago. Holding it tightly in her hands, she whispered, "She wasn't the only one."

Both of them fell silent. Erik was at a loss for words, his blue eyes simply staring into hers. "Meg, I-"

The young woman shook her head. "It doesn't matter now. She is happy. You are happy. That is all I need to be happy," she whispered, taking his hand and placing the mask into it.

His fingers curled around the white material, as well as her own fingers. "If I had known-"

"It would haven't changed anything," she interrupted, giving him a small smile. "I know it wouldn't have changed. I simply wanted to tell you."

Then, leaning down, she pressed her lips against the scar over his right eye and let her fingers trace the reddened skin. Erik closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath in when her lips touched his skin. Meg pulled away quickly before sitting next to him on the bench. Turning to face the keys on the piano, Meg and Erik sang.

"_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses. Helpless to resist the notes I write, for I composed the music of the night." _

Meg licked her lips, her fingers dancing over the keys as she sang, _"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor. Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender. Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light and listen to the music of the night." _

As the music that flowed from their fingers swelled, they both sang together, _"Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams. Purge your thought of the life you knew before. Close your eyes, let your spirit start to sore. And you'll life, as you've never lived before…" _

Erik's fingers slowed before stopping as he let Meg sing alone, her soprano voice, soft and delicate, echoed off the walls of the home. _"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you. Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you. Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind in this darkness which you know you cannot fight, the darkness of the music of the night." _

Erik joined back in with her as the music rose again, their fingers pounding the notes form the instrument in front of them. Meg could feel his eyes on her as they sang in unison. _"Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be. Only then can you belong to me." _

Meg silenced herself, watching him as he played the music to the words he sang. She admired his face and couldn't understand why people had thought he was ugly, or that he was something to be laughed at or feared. He was a beautiful man. _"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation. Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in, to the power of the music that I write, the power of the music of the night." _

Not noticing that Christine had risen from bed and was tiptoeing toward them, they played the instrumental with their shoulders touching as their hands moved in synchronization. Christine listened silently, her hands placed delicately on her hips as she smiled at the two of them.

"_You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night." _

The two of them turned to see Christine standing there, surprised and startled looks on their faces. "You are awake," the Phantom said, standing form the bench and walking to her. "How are you feeling?" he asked, pressing his cool hands to her shockingly warm face.

"Better, thank you, love." She took his hand and averted her attention to Meg. "Hello," she greeted warmly. "What brings you here?"

Christine's friend rose from the bench and stepped toward them. "I wanted to wish you both a happy holiday. I brought gifts," she said, holding out her drawstring bag to show the presents she had brought to them.

"I have something for you as well. It's lovely that you've stopped by," Christine said, moving to cross the room and pick up a gift she had wrapped for her friend for the holiday. "Merry Christmas, Meg," she said as she handed the gift to her.

Meg did the same with a smile and both women unwrapped their gifts. Meg had given Christine a thin necklace with yellow gems hooked into the chain. "It is the necklace that you wore in _Don Juan Triumphant_," she explained with a smile.

Christine instantly asked Erik to clasp it around her neck and he did so, allowing his fingers to dance along her soft skin. "Now, you open your gift, Meg."

She did as she was told, pulling the lid off the large box and widened her eyes as she looked at the dress inside. "Christine… Where did you get this?" she said, pulling out the dress she had been jealous that Christine got to wear in _Hannibal. _

"I explored the theatre before the men came in and started cleaning it up. There was a storage room in the attic the fire did not reach. This dress," she said, running her hand over the soft, white fabric, "was in there, unharmed by the flames."

Meg looked at Christine with tears in her eyes. "This is wonderful," she said, running her hand over the fabric like Christine had. "Thank you, so much. I know exactly when this dress will be useful." Christine looked at her friend curiously. "Do you remember the acrobat in _Hannibal_? The one who spit the flames while he hung from cloth?"

"Yes, I do," Christine said, moving closer to her friend.

"We are getting married in the spring."

Erik's eyebrows shot up and Christine's smile branched across her face. "You are getting married? Why didn't you tell me the last time we spoke?" she said, holding Meg's hands tightly in her own.

"The plans hadn't been made then. Frederick had not gotten blessing from my father, but he asked me yesterday."

Christine embraced Meg for a moment. "That is wonderful, my friend. Truly, it is wonderful."

Erik nodded once. "Many congratulations," he said, taking Meg's hand and kissing it once. "We are happy for you."

"Thank you," Meg said, her free hand still touching the dress. "I am very happy." At that moment, the tall clock pushed against the stone wall began chiming loudly and the three of them looked at the time. "Oh, my goodness, it's so late," she said putting the lid on the box and holding it closely to her. "I must be getting home."

Erik stood at the same time she did. "I'll take you," he said, pulling a cloak from the back of an armchair and fastening it around his neck. "It is dark. You shouldn't be walking home alone, especially in the cold."

"That would be fine," Meg said, pulling on her own cloak and holding her gift closely to her. She looked at Christine. "I will be seeing you soon. The messieurs asked me to be a dance teacher for _Don Juan_. I will be teaching the dances to the ballerinas."

Christine touched Meg's cheek. "I will see you tomorrow, then," she said, stepping away from Meg as she climbed into the boat.

Erik climbed in as well and pushed off the side of the lagoon. Christine walked to the lever to raise the gate, gripping it tightly and pulling it forward. A loud creaking sound filled their ears as it began to rise. She watched as they left, the light from the lantern disappearing around the stone.

"Why did you do that, if you are getting married?" Erik asked her as soon as the two of them disappeared from Christine's view.

Meg smiled up at him. "Because, Phantom," she said with a laugh in her voice. "I grew up in this opera house. Mother told me stories. Meeting you only completed the stories that I fell in love with when I was young." He gripped the pole tightly in his hand. "Mother told me about how no one had loved you, cared for you, cared about you. But, she did. _I _did. My whole life I did. I simply wanted you to know. I love Frederick," she said as they reached the staircase and climbed out of the boat. "But, I love the spirit that filled my head with stories when I was a young girl."

"Oh," was all he said as they climbed the stairs and hurried down the corridor to the mirror in Christine's old dressing room.

"And, I know you love Christine. I don't expect you to love me. I don't want you to, because I have a love of my own. There is always that one person you will love, though, Erik. Yours is Christine."

"If I had known-"

Meg shook her head as they walked to the stables and climbed into the carriage waiting for them. "It wouldn't have made a difference. You were Christine's angel."

She climbed into the carriage and looked at him through the window that was directly behind Erik as he sat with the reign in his hands. Leaning forward so she was next to him, Meg whispered, "She was yours."  
~*~

"How dare you rip my dress, you clumsy little twit!"

It was rehearsal time again. Christine sat in the audience, not far from Messieurs DeSaulniers and LeBlanc as she watched the cast dance and sing on stage. Sandrine, dressed in a billowing red dress with a tight corset and sleeves to her elbows. Currently, they had finished the attack on the masked man, a dance around the two leads, but one of the ballet dancers had stepped on Sandrine's dress, ripping the ruffled hem of the base of the skirt.

"You ruin everything, all of you!" she screamed in a shrill voice, waving her arms at the rest of the cast members as Marie, the poor little ballerina who had ripped the dress, cowered into the skirt of the lead dancer. "I think we need to redefine who is the most important here. Me! Only me. None of you matter, I am the only one!"

Christine rose from her seat, preparing to leave the theater and retreat to her home, as Monsieur LeBlanc said, "Please, Madame, it is no trouble. We will fix the dress. It will be fixed."

Sandrine whipped her head around to survey the crowd of people staring at her as she threw her temper tantrum. "Where is she!? Where is the _little phantom girl_," she leered, forcing the words through her pursed lips.

Christine froze and looked at the stage as Isabelle, in her working clothes that were tinted with splashing dye, came rushing onto the stage with a needle and thread in her hand. Instantly, she knelt down next to Sandrine and began sewing the ruffles back onto the hem in the middle of the stage with the cast staring at them in silence. Christine could not believe what she was witnessing; Isabelle at Sandrine's beck and call, like a servant.

"You better fix this quickly, phantom girl," she threatened, her foot lifting up to jam down on Isabelle's hand, causing the needle to stab through the girl's finger and a yelp to bubble up from her throat that she did her best to silence.

"This," Sandrine said, stepping on her hand again, "is all your fault."

**Okay, Erik is not in love with Meg. Meg is, of course, in love with Erik, but she loves Frederick just as much, so she's gonna marry HIM instead. No worries. That was just a thing. **

**Also, Sandrine is a bitch, no? Don't worry, what goes around comes around… :) **


	24. Recovering

**I know, it has been a while, hasn't it? I'm sorry. Shit went down in my life… Lotsa stuff. Let's not get into that, though, and on with the story! **

Chapter Twenty-Four: Recovering

Isabelle sat in the far corner of the costume room, cradling her hand close to her chest. Lucienne had rushed off to get some ice from outside, while Amelia sat next to Isabelle, stroking her hair and trying to get the poor girl to stop crying.

"It's alright, darling, it's alright," she said, resting her lips at Isabelle's ear. "It's alright. I'm here."

"Here," Lucienne said with flushed cheeks as she came storming back into the room. In her hands, she held a white cloth now dripping with water. "It's melting slightly, but it will help the swelling."

The three women sat together in the room, huddled close, while Lucienne pressed the ice wrap against Isabelle's hand. The tears continued down the young girl's cheeks as she tried to control her heavy breathing. Amelia sang softly.

"You know, Isabelle, I used to be a member of this opera house."

"You were?"

Amelia nodded. "Mm-hm. I was a chorus girl, with Mademoiselle Christine. I hardly think she remembers me, but I sang alongside her for many years. I remember learning the dance steps to the opening dance to _Don Juan Triumphant_. It was the most complicated dance I had ever learned. I wasn't an acrobat, but I had to learn how to use the silk ropes. My arms were sore for so many months, but it was worth it."

"I wish I had seen you," Isabelle said with a small smile.

Lucienne tucked her legs underneath her and touched her friend's arm softly. "She was positively wonderful."

"You saw her?"

Lucienne smiled. "I danced along side her. Mind you, I did not perform on the silk ropes, but I was one of the dancers in the ensemble with Mademoiselle Christine. We were good friends before the horrible fire. She must not remember us now."

Isabelle moved the ice around on her hand. "I'm sure she would remember you if you introduced yourselves once more."

Amelia smiled. "I'm sure…" From downstairs, there was some shouting and chattering. Foot steps thundered on the stairs that lead to the sewing room. "We should get to work before the messieurs think we are slacking in our work."

With a nod, the three women shot from their spots and scurried over to their sewing stations. Lucienne began pinning gold sequins onto one of the chorus girl's dresses while Amelia and Isabelle worked on assembling Sandrine's new costume. Isabelle jammed some pins between her lips to distract herself from moving them and saying anything stupid.

The door flew open.

"Where is she?" Monsieur LeBlanc demanded, his eyes scanning the room.

"Where is whom?"

"That ghastly, little girl. We should have kicked her out of here when we had the chance."

Lucienne and Amelia stood in front of Isabelle to protect her. "You won't do anything with her."

"I believe that is a rather large understatement, _mademoiselle_," Monsieur DeSaulniers leered, pointing his cane at the girl. "Mademoiselle Sandrine has refused to perform on our stage until Isabelle is taken care of."

Amelia reached back and gripped Isabelle's hand. "She's not going anywhere," a voice said from the shadows in the far corner of the room.

The five figures turned to look in the direction of which the voice had come from. Christine Daae stepped out from the darkness, her long, dark brown locks piled onto the top of her head. Her even darker dress hugged every curve on her body, revealing the rise of her breast and far too much of her cleavage line to be considered appropriate.

The messieurs' eyes traveled over her in awe and disgust. "And who are you to tell us how we should run our opera house?"

Christine took three large steps toward them, her hands place firmly on her hips. "This is _my _opera house."

DeSaulniers laughed. "Mademoiselle Daae, you have shown us no paper work that you even own a _carpet _in the place, let alone the entire opera house. Until you produce such papers, we have no reason to believe that it is."

From above them, an envelope floated from the ceiling and landed delicately in Christine's hands. She ripped it open, smiled to herself, than handed it to the gentlemen.

"Read it aloud, please," she said, placing her hands on her hips again.

Monsieur LeBlanc cleared his throat and began. "'In lieu of my presence, I have left the Opera Populaire to Mademoiselle Christine to run and possess. The Opera Ghost.' Oh, please! The Opera Ghost is no more real then Pere Noel. We don't have to listen to him any more then we need to listen to you, a pathetic, little woman."

Christine reached up and slapped her hand across his face. "You shall _not _disrespect me. You have seen the Phantom yourself, and you cannot lie to yourself, can you, Monsieur?"

The two men took a step back from her. "We are not afraid of you, or any ghost."

"Your eyes say otherwise. You two gentlemen are lucky that the Phantom is even continuing to let you _enter _the Opera Populaire, let alone conduct performances. If I were you, I would consider myself very-" She took a step toward them. "Very-" Another step. "_Very_ lucky. Isabelle is not going anywhere, and if that means Sandrine will not perform on my stage anymore, so be it. In fact, I'm sure we will all be better off."

Without another word, Christine began to walk away from the two men, but not before more footsteps thundered on the stairs and soon enough, Sandrine appeared between the two messieurs.

"Has she been banished yet?" she said, crossing her arms over her bust and pouting.

Messieurs LeBlanc and DeSaulniers cleared their throats a few times, still in shock from Christine's confrontation. "In light of recent events, Isabelle Poirier shall not be removed from our staff here at the Opera Populaire," Christine answered for them, staring at the tall, blonde woman before her.

"What recent events?"

"That, Sandrine, none of your concern. What you need to be more worried about is going downstairs and practicing that new dance that Marie taught you this morning," Monsieur DeSaulniers said, watching as Christine stormed out of the room, slamming the door loudly behind her.

Sandrine pouted. "I said I would not perform until the little Phantom Girl left."

"I am not a little Phantom Girl," Isabelle said, stepping around Lucienne and Amelia to go nearly nose to nose with Sandrine. "After all, if we are picking Phantom favorites, everyone knows that is you, Sandrine. Why, he is so fond of you, he showed himself to your _face_," she sneered, reiterating the moments when Sandrine had been haunted by the Opera Ghost.

Sandrine raised her arm quickly, a threat to hit Isabelle, but the brunette was quicker, ducking under a mannequin and protecting herself with the dummy. Sandrine stepped toward her until she was at the mannequin herself, but she stopped.

"Stay away from her, you wretched girl!" Lucienne said, taking a step toward Sandrine.

"Who are you to tell me what to do?"

Lucienne glowered. "I'm the woman who makes your costume, _mademoiselle," _she said in a snide, mocking voice. "So, unless you want to parade around the stage in no clothes, I suggest you do what I tell you and leave Isabelle alone."

Sandrine sneered at Lucienne for a moment, but then turned away, glaring at Isabelle in the process. As Sandrine walked away, her eyes glanced over at the washing table and noticed a bucket full of dark liquid. A smirk spread across her face. The young brunette stepped out from behind the mannequin and, at the same time, Sandrine yelped and fell, pretending to trip as she reached to the table for support. However, instead of grabbing the table, she reached for the bucket and crashed to the floor, knocking the entire contents of the bucket—indigo blue dye—all over herself, her dress, and nearly the entire floor of the sewing room.

When she landed, everyone froze and Sandrine's face scrunched up into a grimace. "Now look what you've done!" she shrieked, looking at her arms that were now tinted blue.

Isabelle gaped at her and bellowed. "What _I've _done! Look at what _you've _done! I didn't touch you; you did this yourself!"

Sandrine stood up, blue dye dripping from her as she stared at herself in the mirror. "Ah! My hair! Look at my hair, look at what you've done to it!"

"I didn't do anything!" Isabelle shouted as Sandrine tried to wring the blue color from her locks.

"Messieurs, she's a menace! Look at what she has done to me."

Isabelle turned to the two men. "Please, I haven't done anything."

"It's true, messieurs, she hasn't. She was nearly three feet from Sandrine when the little brat fell," Amelia said in the girl's defense.

Monsieur LeBlanc nodded once. "Until you give me something that can prove Isabelle's innocence, we are holding her responsible for this."

Tears boiled up in Isabelle's eyes and Amelia took her hand in comfort. "Because of this mess, you lose a week's pay, Mademoiselle."

"No, Monsieur, you don't understand. You cannot take my pay away from me. I need that money. My mother, she's sick. I cannot afford not to send her the money. Please."

"You will lose a week's pay. This is not a negotiation, Isabelle." She fell to her knees, her skirts absorbing some of the blue dye that hadn't yet been soaked up by the other costumes. "Not only that, but you will stay in this wash room until you all of these costumes are cleaned. And you will replace those that cannot be. Understood!?"

She shot to her feet and was about to argue when Monsieur LeBlanc shouted for the last time, "Do you understand, you imbecile?"

Isabelle silenced herself and nodded, looking down at her reflection in the blue die on the floor. "Yes, Monsieur, I understand."

"And you'd better. Now, Amelia, if I am to be mistaken, you have something that can wash out the dye, yes?" The woman nodded. "When, why don't we find that and help Mademoiselle Sandrine clean up?"

With a reluctant look on her face, Amelia followed the three of them from the washroom, picking up a bottle of a foul smelling liquid and soap on her way out the door.

When Christine arrived back in the lair, Erik was sitting at the piano with a pen in hand as he scribbled furiously on a piece of sheet music. Elmae had not yet come down, meaning practice on the stage above them hadn't begun yet, so she and the Phantom had a few moments alone. He turned around as she walked up the few steps to the piano. She placed her hands on the side of his face and stroked his skin softly, her fingers dancing over the boiled scars on his face.

"Beautiful," she whispered, leaning down to kiss him tenderly on the mouth.

His hands moved to grip her waist and he pulled her down on top of him, gripping her hips in his wide palms. "You as well," he said against her lips, tangling his fingers in her hair. Erik's lips trailed down her neck and she gasped at the contact. "So, so beautiful."

Christine smiled when his lips started to wander lower, but then she gripped at the nap of his neck and pressed her lips together in a tight line. "Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Erik, stop."

He looked up at her and frowned. "What is it, my love?"

She jolted in her seat slightly. "I think…" She jolted again "I think I'm going to-"

Before Christine could get another word out, she climbed from Erik's lap and rushed to the wash basin, where she gagged and coughed a few times. Erik rushed to her side and held his breath so he would not smell the foul odor that filled the air.

"Are you alright?"

"No, I am not," she said, her voice wavering. "It hurts."

"What hurts?" he said desperately.

Christine picked up a goblet of fresh water and rinsed out her mouth. "My throat." He relaxed slightly. "I'm alright."

The Phantom shook his head. "Perhaps you should see a doctor."

"No, I'm alright."

Her hand fluttered to her stomach as the color drained from her face and she heaved over the side of the wash bin again.

"Are you certain?" he asked as she rinsed her mouth again.

"I'm certain. I'm not sick, Erik. I'm-" Her hand still rested on her stomach. "Erik, I believe I might be with- With child."

The Phantom stared at her for a long time, his eyes wide as his jaw clenched a few times. Christine reached up and placed her hand on the side of his face while her brows pushed together in worry at his lack of an answer. Before she could say anything else, Erik placed his hands over hers on her stomach, and smiled.

**Yes, hello, I'm sorry. This chapter was a little bad, but I tried. **

**Please review! Outfits on my website, and the faces of the women who play Lucienne and Amelia**


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